Old Friends
by Cadet Deming
Summary: Steve Rogers tries to convice Natasha to see him as more than a friend while the Winter Soldier finds his old employers won't let him escape so easily. Can old friends stay that way forever, or will new enemies destroy them first? Spoilers for Captain America: Winter Soldier Suspense/Action/Romance/Comedy/Friendship
1. Chapter 1

Old Friends Chapter 1

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to Captain America or the Avengers. Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Takes place after Captain America: Winter Soldier. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Please read and review, it's encouraging to continue

**Washington D.C.**

"So Steve, you and Natasha, is there anything going on between you two?" Sam Wilson asked.

Steve Rogers tried not to blush at his friend's question. He'd adjusted from being a 98 pound weakling to becoming a Super Soldier. He'd adapted to being frozen for decades and waking up in a different century. But try as he might, anything having to do with the opposite sex flustered him.

"Natasha and I are just really good, old friends. That's all."

"Old friends? Trust me, men and women can never stay long-term friends. You can try, but unless the woman is repulsive or the man ain't interested in women period. Someone always gets attracted to someone and it ruins it."

Dishonesty was never one of Steve's strong points.

"It's not that I'm not attracted to her. I just don't think she's interested in me."

"Why not? You're Captain America. What woman wouldn't be into you?"

Arrogance was never one of Steve's traits either.

"I'm not one of those guys that can have any woman he wants, trust me. Natasha is always trying to fix me up with other women. And she supposedly has a boyfriend."

Sam said, "Supposedly, as in you've never met him. Is he Canadian?"

"What does being Canadian have to do with anything? I've met him, but he's been on assignment for the past few years and I haven't seen him in awhile. He's one of the Avengers."

Sam looked surprised. "Really, which one?"

"Hawkeye."

Sam looked relieved. "The one with the arrows and no real superpowers? If you'd have said Thor or Iron Man I'd be worried. And if you'd said the Hulk I'd really start wondering about Natasha."

"It doesn't matter who. I'm not the type of guy that goes after other guy's gals."

"But if he's never around, is she really his gal?"

Steve pondered that for a moment.

His cell phone rang. The ringtone was "The Star-Spangled Banner."

Sam said, "You gotta get a Marvin Gaye ringtone man."

Steve smiled. He saw it was Natasha calling.

He said, "Speak of the red-headed Devil. Hello Natasha."

Sam gave him two thumbs up in the background and winked.

Her throaty voice purred, "Hey Steve."

He had to admit he loved her voice. She sounded a bit like the onscreen movie star sirens from his youth, but with a modern edge.

He tried to sound casual. "What's going on?"

"I have bad news. Our old friend Brock Rumlow was in intensive care at Mercy Regional Hospital. He escaped last night, left casualties."

Sam chimed in, "Didn't we drop a Helicarrier on him?"

Natasha said, "Unfortunately that wasn't enough."

Steve ruminated about Rumlow. For two years he fought side-by-side with him on Shield's strike team. For two years he'd trusted him completely with his life, and he turned out to be a Hydra mole who tried to murder him multiple times. The betrayal had hurt more than the physical attacks.

Steve said, "If you're asking for my help tracking him down, you know I'm always there for you."

She said, "I'm worried as much about you as I am about me."

Sam mouthed the words, "True Love" in the background. Steve tried to keep a straight face.

Steve said, "I'll help, but I'm not giving up my search for Bucky either."

Bucky was his other "old friend" who turned out to be working for Hydra. Except Steve believed it wasn't by choice. He had to be brainwashed. Steve had to hold on to the hope he could save him.

Natasha said, "I know once you set your mind to something no one can stop you. But Bucky is a ghost. We have no idea where to find him. Rumlow's trail is hotter."

Steve said, "I'm in, but I won't forget about Bucky."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Bucky Barnes needed to get someplace safe, someplace cold. The cold was familiar, like Winter. For so long he thought "Winter Soldier" was his only name.

Things were starting to come back to him in bits and pieces. Flashes of memory haunted him of the violence and heat of when he was ripped from his slumber to follow orders. The longest history he had was of sleeping in the cold, wet ice where they'd kept him for so long.

They…Hydra.

_We are Hydra! Cut off one head and two more will take its place!_

Was he still Hydra? Was he anything now?

His throat parched with thirst. It was an unfamiliar feeling. When Hydra kept him in the Cryo-Freeze he didn't eat or drink anything for years.

A sign blinked ahead of him advertising for a bar. It looked like a dive, not that he was picky in his condition. He was somewhere in the Southwest corner of Washington, one of the not so safe parts.

Bucky didn't feel fear. He just did what he was programmed to do, to follow the mission like a robot. His mind was as robotic as his mechanical right arm. If a robot's mind could dream, that is.

He kept the metallic arm covered to try to stay incognito. When Hydra let him out he usually had a mask and goggles, but now he was exposed. He avoided eye contact, hiding under his long, dark hair.

Bucky entered the bar. It was dark, which he liked. Music with chanting but no singing played in the background. Was it what they called rap music? Every time they woke him up the music, cars and clothes changed. Each time the world felt less and less familiar.

He rested on a stiff barstool and ordered a beer, picking Budweiser because it was first on the drink list.

The bartender said, "That'll be four bucks."

Bucky realized he had no money on him. He had no reason to carry cash before.

He said, "I'm sorry. I forgot my wallet."

The bartender frowned and pulled the drink back. "Then get the F #k out. This is a business, not a charity."

A man called out from behind Bucky, "I'll cover him, if that's OK. And bring me a Corona, please."

Bucky turned around. The man's eyes were covered with a black hoodie. His right arm bulged under the pouch of the hoodie.

The bartender squinted suspiciously, but turned to get the Corona.

Bucky said, "Uh, gee thanks. Mister…"

His lips curled into a tight smile. "I'm Eric. Eric Williams. I'm always willing to help out a fellow soldier."

"How can you tell?"

"It's in how people carry themselves. And in the eyes."

Bucky wondered how Eric could even see his eyes. The bartender brought the other drink and Eric paid for both of them with his left hand.

Eric gestured, "Do you want to sit someplace less hostile?"

Bucky nodded. They settled into a booth in the corner.

Bucky felt off-kilter. In strange spaces he instinctively didn't allow himself to be boxed in. He was trained to always be on the offensive and never turn his back on potential danger. He was so desperate for a drink, but he needed to figure out what the hell he needed to do he went along with things.

Bucky asked, "So where did you serve?"

Eric sipped from his bottle. "Afghanistan. Iraq. The usual. What about you?"

Bucky remembered bits and pieces: Europe, Vietnam, the Middle East, a grassy knoll in Texas in 1963.

He said tersely, "The same."

Eric said, "Really. What unit did you serve in?"

Bucky thought back to the exhibit he saw at the Smithsonian Museum. It was all about the Howling Commandos during World War 2. He'd seen an entry about himself: James Buchanan Barnes, killed in action in the 1940's.

He hesitated to respond, "It was…it was…the 107th. I think."

Eric cocked his head. "You think? You don't really remember?"

Bucky saw he still only used his left hand. The right was tucked under the table out of sight. The fog in Bucky's brain started to register danger.

"I remember."

"Do you remember…Hydra? Do you remember who you really are?"

Of course they were coming after him. Bucky's programming kicked in, all of the brainwashing and training.

He said, "Hail Hydra. Cut off one head and two more will take its place. I'm Buck…I'm the Winter Soldier. Who are you really?"

"Some people call me the Grim Reaper. I'm one of the fail-safe replacement heads. I'm here to bring you home."

His hood did resemble the robes worn by the Grim Reaper of folklore.

Bucky felt the programming and wanted to break it, smash it into a million pieces, destroy it completely. The fog in his brain lifted.

"What if I don't want to come?"

The Grim Reaper smiled under his hood. "I have orders to bring you back or take you down. It's your choice which."

Bucky swung his bionic arm and snarled, "None of the above!"

His reflexes had been altered by corrupted Super-Soldier experiments so he usually moved faster than everyone else, but to his surprise Eric blocked his move with a metallic right arm of his own. Instead of a regular hand at the end, the arm curved into the blade of a scythe.

Eric said, "You're not the only guy with an upgrade. Except mine are more impressive."

Bucky kicked him in the chest. He fell backwards, slicing through the air with his weapon. Bucky pushed the table on to his opponent. Eric sliced through it like a laser through butter.

The bartender screamed, "No fighting in my bar. You're gonna pay for that, both of you!"

Eric leapt back onto his feet and stared at the bartender, brandishing the scythe.

The bartender looked scared. "On second thought, do whatever you want. I don't even own this place."

He turned tail and ran. Bucky grabbed one of the halves of the table and smashed it over Eric's head. He went down.

Bucky jumped over him and tried to follow the bartender. His instincts made him leap to the left, seconds before a knife ricocheted past him, missing his head by a fraction.

Eric screamed, "You can't leave Hydra! Nobody does! Wherever you hide I will find you and reap you!"

Bucky ran out into the night, not knowing where to turn.

**To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**Old Friends Chapter 2**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Thank you to all who read and review.**

Natasha Romanoff enjoyed teaming up with Steve Rogers again. After her old employer SHIELD had to be disbanded after they both exposed its corruption by Hydra, she was unemployed. There weren't too many job openings for spies available.

"Thanks for doing this," she said, as she drove them both to the parking lot of Mercy General Hospital in her Corvette.

Steve smiled. "Thank you for helping. I'm more of a soldier than an investigator. If you don't mind me asking, where are you getting money from these days?"

She put on an oversize pair of sunglasses to stay relatively incognito.

"You know how normal people save for retirement? I had an emergency fund for if I ever had to go off the grid. What about you?"

She honestly didn't save for retirement because in her line of work she didn't think she'd live long enough to enjoy it.

Steve shrugged almost apologetically. "I have a military pension. A 70 year old military pension. The interest added up."

She did the math in her head and figured he could live quite comfortably. He was modestly dressed in casual workout gear, drove an inexpensive motorcycle, and lived well below his means in a one-bedroom apartment. She liked that about him.

Natasha said, "So you don't even need to work?"

He furrowed his brow. "I feel like I do need to do something. Retirement is like giving up. I don't like to give up."

She tied a scarf around her head to cover her red hair and they both walked through the hospital to the crime scene. People bustled around them in scrubs and comfortable shoes. A few people wore masks. It put Natasha's guard up.

They came to the hallway of the Intensive Care Unit. There were three taped outlines of Brock Rumlow's victims. The corpses had already been removed. Natasha smelled the bleach that had been used to clean up the blood.

Natasha spoke to the nurse who was the only survivor, "Maria Rojas? I'm Natasha Romanoff and this is Captain Steve Rogers. We're here from what's left of SHIELD."

Maria clutched herself. "I've heard of you from TV. The police took the security video already, but they say they're backlogged arresting everyone they can from Hydra. It's a mess. This whole city is a mess now."

Steve said, "We're trying to clean up the mess ourselves ma'am."

Maria spat with surprising anger, "Well you should have cleaned it up last night, or these women would still be alive!"

Natasha had seen a rainbow of reactions from people over the past two weeks: denial, anger, paranoia and acceptance. The anger was the hardest to deal with.

She gripped Maria's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Did you know the victims personally?"

Maria nodded sadly and pointed to the closest outline. "That was Elsa. She was my oldest friend from nursing school. I knew her 20 years. The one by the corner was Chelsea. She was only 22. She had her whole life ahead of her. The one to the right was Laurie. She has 3 kids. Three children who are never going to see their mother again because a monster stabbed her through the lungs ten times with a scalpel. They were like family to me."

Natasha felt a trickle of not quite envy, but wistfulness about the thought of working in a place where someone could trust their coworkers enough to consider them family.

Maria started crying.

Steve handed her a Kleenex box and said, "I'm sorry for your loss ma'am."

He called almost all women "ma'am' or "Miss". It had been a year before Steve finally stopped calling Natasha "ma'am."

Maria blew her nose and asked, "The killer…what was his name…Brock Rumlow? Did you know him personally? Was he one of your co-workers?"

Steve and Natasha exchanged a pained, knowing look.

He said, "Yes. We served in the same unit. I guess we didn't know him as well as we thought we did."

Maria said, "How did you not know he was a monster? How did you work side-by-side with him and not see? You're supposed to be an intelligence agency! You were supposed to protect us!"

Guilt pierced Natasha's heart. She had been asking herself the same questions over the past few weeks.

Steve said, "Ma'am, for whatever failures I committed I apologize. If you show us the police report I'll do what I can to get your friends justice."

Maria sniffled and handed them paperwork. She left the hallway, muttering under her breath.

Natasha sat next to Steve on a bench and they read through the report together. She was close enough to brush against him. His breathing sounded strained.

The report managed to be dry and gory at the same time. Rumlow had broken out of being hooked up to life support. He'd gotten ahold of a surgical-grade scalpel. Laurie died from punctured lungs and internal bleeding. The others had their throats slashed. Chelsea's arm had been broken in half.

Steve said, "This doesn't even make sense from a strategic escape perspective. He didn't have to be so brutal. None of these people were a threat to him. He didn't have to use lethal force."

Natasha mulled things over. "When we worked with him, he was undercover. He had to keep up appearances of being a law-abiding citizen. And now the gloves are off. He doesn't have to hide his true colors anymore. He didn't kill these women because he had to. He did it because he wanted to."

Steve closed the report. "That woman is right. How did we not sense that he was evil? How did we miss it?"

Natasha thought back. Hindsight was 20-20, but maybe there were signs. Signs she should have picked up on to prevent all the tragedy.

_**July 13, 2012, Arlington, Virginia**_

_ Natasha downed her third shot of vodka. It was the watered down variety so she wasn't as buzzed as she could be, but she was happy. _

_SHIELD's strike team had finally invited her to celebrate with them after their latest mission. Natasha tried to be cordial and polite to her coworkers, but outside of her boyfriend Agent Clint "Hawkeye" Barton, she didn't normally socialize with them outside of work._

_She surveyed the room. Most of the guys in the group were either huddled together or blatantly hitting on women. Only Steve Rogers sat alone at a table. She felt sorry for him. He seemed so uptight due to being raised in the 1920's and 1930's and being thrown in to the modern world. He couldn't even get drunk because of the Super Soldier experimentation. She suspected the guys on the team only brought him along to be a designated driver._

_Natasha was about to go over and talk to him, but something else caught her eye. She saw a flash of pink hair in the corner. Brock Rumlow, the strike team leader had a girl backed up against the wall. The girl looked awfully young._

_Natasha came closer to them. She was good at sneaking up on people without being seen. Brock's conquest was dressed in skintight diamondback snakeskin patterned pants and a low-cut tank top. She was toned but curvy._

_The girl slurred, "I normally can drink more, honest."_

_Brock said, "Let me take you home, baby. You can get a cab back tomorrow."_

"_But my parents…I mean…my roommate will be mad if I leave it here."_

_Brock cupped her cheek, "Don't worry about it. I'll give you money. I've done this before."_

_It was like watching a lamb cuddling with a wolf._

_Natasha scanned the girl. Her hair was brown, with dyed pink highlights. Her face was covered in heavy foundation, makeup to try to hide her acne. Her eyes were lined with black and her lips painted red. It was makeup to make her look older, old enough to be in a bar._

_Natasha was a little sensitive about young girls growing up to quickly. She had been snatched up herself at such a young age to be trained as a spy by the KGB. It made her touchy about innocence lost too soon._

_Natasha said, "Hello."_

_Brock looked startled for a moment, and then smoothed his hair back. _

"_Hey Natasha. How's it going?"_

_Natasha gestured to the teenager, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your…friend?"_

_The girl slurred. "Hi. I'm Rachel. Rachel Leighton." _

_Natasha asked, "How old are you, honey?"_

_Rachel looked scared. "I'm 21 honest. I go to Georgetown University."_

_Natasha deadpanned, "Georgetown. Impressive School. I hear it's really hard to get into. What are you majoring in?"_

"_I'm majoring in…um…I'm majoring in college!"_

_Natasha stared at Brock. There wasn't a trace of guilt in his eyes._

_Natasha said, "Could I see your ID?"_

_Rachel scrambled through her purse. It was a knockoff snakeskin Louis Vuitton. She handed a driver's license to Natasha. _

_Natasha said, "This is so amateur a nearsighted mall security guard could see through it. Show me your real ID."_

_Rachel pouted, but handed her another card._

_Natasha said, "She's 16 years old."_

_Brock deadpanned. "I had no idea. I'm shocked. Look I'll just drive her home. I swear it. No harm, no foul." _

_Natasha glared at him. She didn't want to say she didn't trust her teammate, except, she didn't._

_She called out, "Steve! Can you come here?"_

_Steve left his table and walked to them. He sounded bored. "Who do I need to drive home this time?"_

"_Can you please be a gentleman and take Rachel back to her house?"_

_Steve stared at Rachel suspiciously. "How old are you?"_

_She grinned at Steve. "I go to Georgetown, honest! You're really hot. Have you been on TV before?"_

_Steve blushed. "I…um…er. I'll take her back to her parents." _

_He dragged the teenager away._

_Brock sneered sarcastically. "Thanks. Really. And you wonder why the team doesn't hang out with you more."_

_It touched a nerve for Natasha. She did get the sense that the Strike team treated her as an outsider. She wondered if it was because she was female or because she was recruited by Barton directly instead of one of the usual people like Secretary Alexander Pierce, Director Fury or even Agent Sitwell._

_She said "I was just trying to protect the team. She's under 18. I don't want us to get hit with any statutory rape scandals." _

_Brock put his hands up, "Whoa! Whoa! The age of consent is 16 in Maryland and the District of Columbia. It's only 18 in Virginia."_

"_We're in Virginia now. Why does it creep me out that you have the age of consent memorized?"_

_He half-smiled. "A good soldier always knows the local laws. Look, I didn't know she had a fake ID. I'm just muscle. I don't have eagle-eyed spy eyes like you."_

_Natasha rested her back against the wall. _

_She said evenly, "I've been watching you Brock."_

_He raised his eyebrows. She sensed nervousness in him. Fighting side-by-side with him on missions, he never showed any signs of nervousness._

_She continued. "You're not stupid, dumb muscle. You wouldn't have survived being a Navy Seal and Pierce would never have made you team leader if you weren't very, very smart."_

_He swallowed. She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. "And?"_

"_And you're too smart to not know jailbait when you see it."_

_Brock put his hand on the wall over her head. He was almost a foot taller than her. She was used to being surrounded by bigger men who underestimated her._

_He said, "I think I know what this is really about. You sent that girl away with Rogers because…you want me for yourself."_

_Natasha burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it. She laughed so hard a few people in the bar turned and stared at them. _

"_You and me? That would be a no. I have a boyfriend."_

"_Is that supposed to stop me?"_

_He was a very good-looking man, in a vaguely Mediterranean way, but his arrogance was off-putting. It wasn't like Steve who was handsome enough to be an Abercrombie & Fitch model but didn't show that he knew it, or her own boyfriend who drew his confidence from his marksman abilities but not his face. Looks weren't everything if they concealed an inner ugliness._

_She fingered the arrow necklace she wore as a reminder of Clint. "I have a boyfriend who kills people for a living."_

_Brock murmured, "I kill people for a living."_

_She growled and pushed him away, "So do I. Now get off of me before I have to report you for harassment."_

_He raised his hands in supplication, "Romanoff, let's not be like this. You're overreacting. We're on the same side. Let's just forget this ever happened. You know people that rat out their teammates don't get far in SHIELD."_

_ She crossed her arms. People were staring, although it was clear they were Rumlow's buddies. She sensed hostility. Natasha tried to keep her professional cool. _

_ She sighed. "Fine. I won't report you to Fury for harassing me, if you stay away from teenagers. I'll be cordial and have your back at work if it's required, but let's not socialize outside of it."_

**Modern Day**

Natasha looked back on that night in Virginia. She should have reported him. She should have taken it as a warning that his predatory behavior was a sign of something darker. She wanted to fix it now.

Natasha handed Steve the police report. "Let's do what we can to take him down. By any means necessary."

**To be continued.**

**Author's notes: Sorry I took so long to update, but my computer broke. I'm trying to give all of the main characters equal time. The Grim Reaper is a character from Marvel comics. I'm keeping him closer to his Avengers Earth's Mightiest Heroes cartoon version, but updated for the MCU. Brock Rumlow is one of the nastiest characters in Marvel comics history and he does have a history with Rachel Leighton, who is one of Captain America's ex-girlfriends, but this is a T rated story so I'm keeping the adaptation very heavily censored/edited.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Old Friends Chapter 3**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Thank you so much to those who review-)**

Steve pondered how to track Rumlow. He was highly trained in attacks and evasions, so he doubted it would be easy. Steve felt the pressure to stop him before he shed more blood.

"Rumlow is covered in Third Degree burns, so he can't go anywhere without being highly conspicuous. If he tried the subway someone would have reported it. A cab driver might be hesitant to pick up someone looking like him. Did anyone report a stolen car from the parking lot last night?"

Natasha said, "I can check with the police. These days, if someone has a navigation system in their car or phone, they can be tracked by it. Maybe we'll get lucky and he stole something traceable."

Steve thought about the balance between people having advanced technology in exchange for losing privacy. It had practically been the tradeoff for an agency like SHIELD'S existence. Now he knew all too well that the only privacy was in his own head.

She called the police and turned on her charm to whoever answered the phone. While Natasha talked, Steve's own phone rang.

"It's Sam."

"Hey. I'm with Natasha."

"Good for you."

He glanced at her sideways. She didn't appear to be listening.

Steve murmured, "Not like that."

Sam said, "Give it time. I've got a lead on your buddy Bucky. Last night a bartender at The Blue Oyster Cult Bar reported a fight between two men with metal arms and weapons. One matched Bucky's description."

Steve felt excited but wary. "Another man with a metal arm. I don't like the sound of that. It could be Hydra."

"Probably. Can you come with me to investigate?'

Steve contemplated his overwhelming options. Hydra really was "cut off one head, two more problems will overwhelm you." He had to set priorities.

He said, "I'm tracking Rumlow, who has a growing body count of civilians. As long as Bucky isn't killing innocents that's my primary mission. Can you try to pin Bucky's location down without approaching him directly?"

Sam said, 'I'd rather keep my distance from him without you anyhow. Last time he ripped my wings off. I miss the wings."

Steve remembered who had manufactured Sam's flight suit. "You know, Tony Stark owes me a favor and his company made your wings. Maybe he can get you a stronger set."

He wasn't close friends with Tony. There were too many personality differences between them for that. He hoped that the fact that Tony was on Hydra's list of 20 million assassination attempts he helped thwart would account for something.

Sam said, "Cool. Can you introduce me to Tony Stark?"

"I'll see what I can do. Try to locate Bucky now, but do not approach until I get you stronger airpower. I don't want you to get hurt going after him."

"Good plan, and good luck."

Steve hung up. He hoped Bucky wouldn't start killing people again. He clung to the faith that he only killed when ordered to.

Natasha grabbed his elbow. "I have good news. A registered nurse reported her SUV stolen from the parking lot last night. It has OnStar satellite tracking. We can follow it through that."

"I don't understand technology, but in this case I like it. We have to be very careful, though. Cornered people are dangerous."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Brock Rumlow couldn't shake the pain. Every inch of his skin had been burnt and gnarled. He'd lost all of his hair from fire, even his eyebrows and lashes. Dust got in his eyes, making him angrier.

He'd managed to hotwire an SUV and drove it to an alleged Hydra safe house. The news on the radio was all about how Hydra's attempted coup had failed, its leaders were all killed or arrested, and everything was exposed. Decades of planning and infiltration were flushed down the drain because of Rogers and Romanoff.

He could see patches of his reflection in the rearview mirrors. He tried to avoid it so he could hold himself together. Brock prided himself on being tightly controlled. He couldn't have lasted so long undercover if he didn't keep his emotions in check. Now with his real identity displayed, his outer layer of camouflage peeled away, it felt harder to stay in control.

Brock approached the reported safe house. It was off the grid to all but the most elite Hydra operatives. He could only hope it wasn't compromised.

It was in a run-down neighborhood. The streets were littered with trash, including needles. Being barefoot made him quieter, but more at risk. His only weapon was the scalpel he had stolen from the hospital. He missed the feel of a gun in his hands and protection of a flak jacket. All that separated him from the night was a thin hospital gown, still covered in blood.

The block was strangely absent of homeless people. It could be good, or a sign that the place was so dangerous not even the homeless would rest there.

He entered the building. It was unlocked, not that that would have stopped him. Cobwebs covered the corners of the walls. A rat scurried by his foot.

Brock creeped through to the basement. He walked down stairs. He noted there were no cobwebs on this level.

The basement was open except for a room at the end with a metal door. Holding his breath, he knocked on it. There was no response.

He exhaled, hoping he didn't come all of this way for nothing. He knocked again.

A peephole opened and a voice called out, "Who is it? I don't recognize you."

"The burns are recent. I'm a Hydra agent. I swear it."

"Anyone could say that. What division were you with?"

"Shield Strike Team Undercover. I served under Supreme Hydra Pierce."

"Pierce is dead. There were no survivors in that group."

"Your Intel is wrong. I'm Brock Rumlow, Pierce's top lieutenant."

"Brock?"

The door opened. A man stood in the doorway, pointing a scythe at him.

Brock said, "Eric? Grim Reaper?"

Eric smiled and lowered his weapon. "I didn't recognize your voice through the door. What the hell happened to you? You look like Freddy Krueger."

They hugged, but Eric never dropped his weapon. Brock watched it hover to the side, with glinting menace.

Brock said, "I got trapped when the helicarrier crashed into SHIELD headquarters. It wasn't the crash that got me, it was the explosions."

Eric gestured for him to come inside. He poked his head out behind him and scanned the basement suspiciously.

"Are you sure you weren't followed?"

Brock said, "You know me. I checked my rearview the whole time. No one was on my tail."

Eric locked the door behind him. "Do you need anything? Food, water, meds, underage hooker?'

"You're a riot. I need food, normal clothes and a bathroom."

The reaper gestured with his scythe. "There are spare clothes in the bedroom to the left. The bathroom is there too."

"Are you going to put the weapon down? We're all old friends here."

Eric sighed and used his left hand to detach the metal weapon from his right arm. It revealed a cauterized stump below his elbow.

Brock said, "Ouch."

"You're not the only one injured in the line of duty. It's a good thing we have so much experimental tech at our disposal. What didn't kill me, Hydra made stronger."

"I thought you loved the kill."

"Other people's, not mine."

Brock went to the bedroom. He sifted through a pile of clothes and picked out black pants and a sweatshirt in extra-large.

He went in to the bathroom and turned on the light to change. The bathroom mirror was huge. It was the first time he had a chance to see a full frontal view. His skin looked like melted cheese, red and twisted and raw. Every inch was covered with it.

Brock wanted to cry. It wasn't the macho thing to do. It wasn't considered masculine for men to care about their looks or be vain, but he had been.

He'd depended on his looks for all of his life. They were a crutch, a concealment. Beauty created a halo effect where people wanted to think good things about those blessed with it. They'd let him get away with almost anything.

He turned the faucet on so Eric couldn't hear his sniffling. Even though they had been best friends in Hydra boot camp, he didn't want to reveal everything to him. He splashed his face with water to wash away the tears.

For the first time, he truly hated Rogers, Romanoff, and the man with the wings they'd recruited. When he attacked them before, he was just following orders and it was nothing personal. He'd even admired Rogers before. Now, he wanted to make them pay for what they did to him. He blamed them for ruining everything. It never occurred to him to blame himself.

He dressed, liking the fact that the news clothes covered more of his ugly skin. Splashing his face with water one more time, he left the bedroom.

Eric handed him a bowl of cereal with his good hand. It wasn't much, but he needed it.

Brock asked, "With Pierce gone, who's running us now. Who is the new Supreme Hydra?"

Eric grinned. "Let me introduce you to him."

**To be continued. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Old Friends Chapter 4**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Thank you so much to those who read and review-)**

Natasha pulled her Corvette up to the black SUV she and Steve had tracked. It was parked in a back alley in a run-down part of town. They approached it with wariness.

Steve asked, "What if it's booby-trapped?"

She watched him scan the area, frowning.

Natasha got on her knees and peeked under the car's body. "I don't see any bombs."

She stood up, put on gloves to avoid messing up any fingerprints and opened the door. It was unlocked. The car had been clearly hotwired.

Steve said, "Now what?"

Natasha brainstormed. "He could have been picked up by someone else and be long gone. He could be in hiding nearby alone. Or worst case scenario, he could be in the area and connected with more HYDRA cronies."

Steve said, "Which we're underdressed and outnumbered for."

"I miss my SHIELD cat suit."

"I miss you in the cat suit too."

She stared at Steve. Did he just try to flirt with her? It didn't seem like him.

He said, "I meant…because it provided battle protection. I'd rather be in one of my bullet proof uniforms out here."

Natasha could tell when Steve lied, because he usually was so bad at it. She tried to focus on the job at hand.

"There are flak jackets in the trunk and heat sensors to see if people are on the other side of the wall."

She handed Steve his tech. With SHIELD being disbanded and declared a terrorist organization, they were lucky to have any devices at their disposal.

He said, "I'll take the North and you take the South. Remember to look at upper floors and basements. Be careful. If there are any problems call me for backup. Don't engage without me."

If anyone could be a one man Army it was him, but she still added, "Ditto for you."

She watched his tall form walk away in the alley. His famous shield was slung over his back. In red, white and blue it looked like a giant target. She hoped he'd be safe.

Natasha aimed her machine and started to search the closest buildings. She tried to keep her ears open and her eyes on the sensor. It didn't reveal any people, but plenty of stray cats and rats.

She almost jumped out of her skin when her phone rang an hour later. At first she thought it was Steve and her heart raced that he'd found something. She was disappointed to see it was Clint Barton. She needed to talk to him, but not now.

"Hey Clint, thanks for calling but I'm in the middle of something. Can I get back to you later?"

"The first time we touch base since you broadcast my life on the internet and made us both jobless and you're in the middle of something?"

She tensed. "It's loose-ends work-related. I can't get into this with you now, Clint could you please…"

"Nat, you owe me to talk about this right f #$&ng now."

She took a deep breath. She could go into actress mode and play a role to placate him.

Natasha said, "I understand that you're upset. I had no other choice but to release everyone's information to stop HYDRA, including mine. I was just following Nick Fury's orders."

"You didn't even call me. You could have given me a warning before this happened."

"I'm sorry. I didn't have time. Everything happened so fast. We didn't know who to trust."

His voice rose an octave. "You didn't trust me. After everything I've done for you, after everything we've been through together you didn't trust me enough to make one phone call?"

"If the shoe was on the other foot, if you were in my position and discovered that the organization we devoted our lives to, our leaders, our co-workers, our friends were part of a 70 year old conspiracy wouldn't you have done the same thing?"

Clint's voice hitched. "No. No, I wouldn't. I would have put you first over the mission."

She had enough control to cry on cue, or avoid crying if need be, but Natasha felt trapped in an emotional limbo. She could cry to appear more sympathetic, but it would be a form of emotional manipulation and Clint knew her well enough to sense if she was faking it. If she didn't cry, she'd look like an uncaring ice queen.

She tried to retreat to rationality. Logic was so much simpler than the maelstrom of human emotions, "That would have been the wrong choice. The phone could have been bugged."

Even Natasha was shocked at how cold her delivery was. Silence greeted her on the other end of the line. She wanted to backtrack.

When it came to dealing with men on a seductive level, Natasha was an expert. She had literally been trained in how to wrap men around her finger to get them to do what she wanted in the beginning of meeting someone. When it came to actually maintaining a long-term relationship, to dealing with commitment and compromise, she could be as flustered as any other woman walking down the street.

Clint finally said, "The only wrong choice I made was falling in love with you. You're not a real woman, you're this sociopathic KGB-programmed robot."

It hit her that she was about to go through a break-up. Natasha Romanoff, the world-renowned femme fatale, literal superhero, and world-changing whistleblower, was getting dumped. Her pride bristled, and she realized that was immature, so she projected it back onto Clint.

She said, "You don't need to act like a child about this and resort to name-calling. What are you really upset about? That I released the facts that you have a criminal record and used to work in a circus? I volunteered y own history which is far worse than yours."

"There's nothing wrong with working in a circus! I'm upset because I've always loved you more than you love me. The past two years with us spending so much time apart made it worse. The crap with HYDRA was just the straw that broke the camel's back."

Natasha fingered the arrow necklace she wore as a tribute to him. It had been a security blanket for her. In a way her relationship with Clint had been a security blanket of sorts. It was an excuse to keep other men away. Being in a long-distance dying shell of a relationship was keeping her from being in a genuine relationship.

"Clint, I've loved you very deeply, deeper than anyone else before. I'm sorry if that wasn't enough. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry we just didn't work out."

With all of her apologizing, she was starting to sound like Steve.

Clint said, "After half a decade together, that's all you can say? I'm sorry?"

Natasha said, "Can't we just be frien…"

Clint hung up on her. At least he cut her off before the "Let's still be friends" cliché.

Natasha unclasped the arrow necklace and held it up in front of her. It glinted in the light and twisted around until it pointed its accusing arrow tip towards her. She wrapped it up and put it in her pocket.

She continued for an hour until her phone rang again. She hesitated to answer it, but it was Steve. She felt relieved.

Natasha tried to sound upbeat, "Any luck?"

"Three homeless crackheads asked me for my autograph."

She deadpanned, "I don't think crack cocaine is trendy in the inner city anymore. The in drugs are crystal meth and heroin."

"I wouldn't know about any of those. I did find two suspicious heat signatures in a basement at 334 South Martin Luther King Blvd. Can you come and bring any extra munitions from the car?"

"I'll be there as soon as possible."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Grim Reaper warned Brock, "You know how they say cut off a head and two more appear? With HYDRA cells it's more like, cut off one head, four more heads will fight and kill each other for power in the background until two are left standing."

Brock thought about that. As a deep undercover agent he had worked for decades while being compartmentalized from the rest of HYDRA's other cells. His group didn't have a high turnover rate. They did have a strong sense of loyalty. It was something he clung to so he could overcompensate for being a mole. He needed to tell himself he was loyal to something.

Brock asked, "Is there anything else about the new Supreme HYDRA I should know?"

Eric looked at him appraisingly, as if he was sizing him up. "Yeah. Don't let him think you'd be a threat."

Brock frowned. It felt strange with the burnt skin on his forehead.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't let him know how smart you really are."

Brock said, "You mean, play the dumb thug who just follows orders?"

Eric nodded.

Brock asked, "Have you ever killed any cell leaders?"

Eric nodded and smiled his mysterious smile. "I take out who they tell me to take out. And the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

Brock wondered if his so-called friend would ever turn on him if ordered to do so.

He watched as the Reaper attached a flesh-colored robot hand to his stump and turned on a computer monitor. He spoke in German and Brock listened for his name. He made a mental note to learn German. Eric swung the computer around.

The man on the screen said in a German accent, "Welcome Mr. Rumlow. I am Baron Wolfgang von Strucker."

He appeared to be middle-aged and wore a green military style uniform. One of his eyes was covered by a monocle.

Brock performed the double fisted "Hail HYDRA" salute.

Strucker waved his hand dismissively. "There is no need for that. HYDRA as you know it is no more."

Brock feigned confusion. "I don't understand sir."

"We are going through what is called a rebranding phase. A rebuilding if you will. Were you loyal to Alexander Pierce?"

Brock pointed to his scars. "I lost my skin for that man. And I'd give my all for you. And the cause."

Strucker clasped his hands in front of his face. His right hand was covered in a red glove.

He said, "I like your enthusiasm, but will you cover your face. I just had lunch 15 minutes ago."

Brock tried to hold his temper. Eric handed him a box full of masks. Brock sifted through them. He passed over a black ski mask, a Spiderman mask, and a Richard Nixon caricature. He settled on a black one with a white skull across the front. The skull face formed a white cross, like a pirate's crossbones. He put it on.

Strucker said, "Much better. It fits with my new agenda. Pierce made a mistake. He focused too much on quantity. When HYDRA began, its members were so loyal that when caught they took a cyanide pill. But these new people, the ones being arrested? They are all spilling our secrets, the ones not posted on the internet. I prefer quality members. The organization must be, what do they call it in your America? Leaner and meaner."

Brock said, "Leaner and meaner I can do. Especially if I get another shot at Captain America!"

Strucker smiled. "Yes, Steven Rogers. It is good you have survived as you know more about his fighting style than anyone. And vengeance can motivate even the simplest of men. You can keep him…busy."

His monocle glinted.

Brock asked, "So are you like, a real baron?"

"My ancestors were barons in Prussia."

"Is Prussia, like, next to Russia?"

Strucker rolled his eyes and sighed. "No."

Eric gave Brock a 'tone it down' gesture from behind the monitor.

Brock said, "So, what's your new plan? Other than me killin' Rogers."

"A wise strategist plans to win no matter what the outcome. Project Insight may have failed to a lesser person's eye, but it was always meant to create fear. If the helicarriers had succeeded in killing off the 20 million threats to us to frighten the sheep of the world to submit to HYDRA'S rule we would have succeeded in one way. Instead by forcing SHIELD to expose all of its secrets, we have created even more fear. If the public thinks HYDRA was defeated, we can fight and influence from the shadows once again. We are a terrorist organization and will continue to be so. I am having my elite members change their cell names, use code words, hide any connection to my rule. From here on, I am just 'the Baron.' You will need to start using a code name."

Brock scratched his head through the mask. "How about….Crossbones?"

Eric said, "I like it!"

Strucker rolled his eyes. "Of course you would. How is your progress with the Winter Soldier?"

The Grim Reaper said, "I'm still working on it. The tracer signal in his arm went cold."

Strucker said, "So as of now you have failed."

Brock said, "Actually, I think if we want to get Winter Soldier, we can use Captain America as bait or, what do they call it, vice versa?"

He wanted to sound smarter but not too smart.

Strucker said, "What do you mean?"

Brock said, "It's a soldier thing, brother's in arms and all. Soldiers train together and we get loyal. I saw the fancy scientists pull Winter Soldier out of his ice box for years. Most of the time he acted like a robot. The first time he goes against Captain America, he freaked out about knowing him. It's like Rogers is the one thing that could break all the brainwashin' we did."

Strucker looked thoughtful. "Interesting. I want the two of you to team up and bring them both to me. Dead or alive."

**To be continued**

**Author's Notes: Sorry I didn't post earlier, but I had a death in my husband's family and flew out of town for half of the week. **

**For Agents of Shield, I watch and like the show and love ho they tied it into the Winter Soldier movie directly, but I think it would be too confusing to do a crossover.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Old Friends Chapter 5**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Thank you so much to those who read and review-)**

Bucky tried to focus on surviving. What were the basic needs? Air, food, water, shelter, love and the feel of a rifle in his hand. Even if his left arm didn't process "feelings" normally.

How did HYDRA find him? He tried to focus, tried to remember what the technicians did to him when they took him out of stasis. He remembered the electroshocks, having things strapped to his chest, and the scientists opening up his metal arm and poking around with the wires inside.

They spoke in different languages: English, Russian, German, some dialect of Chinese. He remembered hearing "tracer signal" in Russian. They must have put a tracer signal in the arm.

He stared at it, his blessing and his curse. Having it strapped to him kept him from bleeding to death, and made him stronger than anyone not superhuman. It also made him stick out like a radioactive sore thumb. Bucky needed to open the arm somehow.

He looked at the surrounding buildings and spotted a gas station. It was late enough for it to be closed. A gas station would hold the tools he could use. He covered his face.

Bucky hit the glass door with his altered arm. A spider-web of white spread through the clear glass. He hit it again and it shattered inwards.

An alarm shrieked. Its blaring echoed in his head. He opened the door and walked through. He broke open the cash register which held around $50.00. He wasn't sure if that was a lot of money or a little. Each decade he woke up in seemed to have more inflation.

The Winter Soldier strode to the repair section. He found a toolbox, grabbed a screwdriver and turned it on himself, mimicking what he'd seen the scientists do so many times.

The metal links on his arm opened and revealed its inner workings. He stared at the inside looking for something foreign, something that looked like the tracers he had been given in the past to use on his targets.

Bucky almost smiled when he saw a small device with a glowing red light. He couldn't remember the last time he smiled about anything. He used a set of pliers to remove it. The light went dead. He sealed his arm up again.

He studied a map on the wall. It gave him a good layout of the city. The question was where to go. Bucky was a soldier through and through. He needed orders and a mission. He was as lost as a child without them.

Alexander Pierce had been like his father, telling him how the world worked, what a good job he did, how proud of him he was. If he occasionally smacked him around, Bucky thought that was normal. In his day, parents were expected to give a little corporal punishment to their children.

Bucky heard the distant siren of an approaching police car. He caused so much murder and mayhem wherever he was unleashed, sirens where never far behind.

He hurried out the broken door and dropped the tracer into the gutter just to be sure. Bucky found refuge in an alleyway next to a dumpster.

He thought of his options. Did he have any friends or allies left? Steve Rogers had helped him. He was the only target to stop fighting him, he just begged him to remember his past. Bucky wanted to find Steve, but how?

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Steve watched Natasha arrive, carrying riot gear. She held a helmet and Plexiglas shield. It was a pale imitation of his own defenses. She looked glum.

She asked, "Are you sure this place is suspicious enough to warrant force?"

"We'll have to ask questions first and shoot later."

"And if they shoot first?"

'We'll have confirmation they're suspicious."

Steve noticed she wasn't wearing her gold arrow cross her chest.

"Nat, your necklace is gone. Did you lose it?"

She clutched at her clavicle. Steve tried not to stare at her cleavage.

"How observant of you. I took it off. While we were separated I…never mind."

"What?"

She sighed. "Clint and I just broke up."

Steve felt a rush of happiness, and then guilt that he was happy over something like that.

He said as a gut reflex, "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? You didn't have anything to do with it. The two of us just didn't work out. It happens. Let's just focus on our target."

She sounded nonchalant, but Steve figured if she was that blasé about it she wouldn't have removed the necklace in the middle of a mission. He tried to strategize an opening.

Steve said, "Well if you want to get together later and talk about it, you can come over to my place or I could go to yours."

She sighed, "Do you mean watch bad romantic comedies and eat a ton of ice cream?"

"Maybe not the bad romantic comedy part, but I'm always game for ice cream."

She kissed him on the cheek. He felt flushed.

Natasha said, "So wholesome. You're a good friend Steve."

He normally loved the word "friend," but now he wanted so much more. She walked ahead of him so he couldn't see her expression.

They crept down the stairs. He handed Natasha his body heat sensor. It showed two male figures sitting on a couch, probably watching television. He and Nat exchanged a look. Normally he would have just blown the door down, but with their sketchy legal status they couldn't risk it.

Steve knocked on the door. The figures leapt to their feet. One pantomimed the motions of covering his head. Was he putting on a mask? One appeared to be missing an arm, or at least it wasn't giving off a heat signature. Steve's heart leapt in his chest. What if it was Bucky? Except the right arm was missing, not the left.

The figures came to the door. Steve recognized their body language as grabbing guns.

A voice called out, "Who is it?"

Steve said, "Pizza delivery!"

Natasha whispered, "That's the best you can come up with?"

The voice said, "One moment please."

The figures aimed their weapons at the door. Steve held his shield up. The door opened a crack, and bullets started flying. They ricocheted off of his shield.

The door opened inwards, so Steve used his weight to force it open. Natasha leapt over his head and fired from her wrist bracelets.

Steve tackled the man in front of him to the ground. His head was covered with a skeleton mask.

Steve said, "Stay down HYDRA scum!"

The man answered, "We're not HYDRA! We're regular….legitimate businessmen! I'm Crossbones!"

Steve said, "Brock, I worked with you for years. I think I know your voice by now."

Brock growled in an unnaturally garbled tone, "I'm Batman!"

Steve punched him. The wrestled, exchanging blows and grunting.

He heard a woman screaming. He thought it was Natasha, but it came from the TV. He realized a horror movie was playing in the background.

Steve looked to Natasha to make sure she was safe, not that she couldn't take care of herself. She was fighting with a man whose eyes were obscured by a black hood. He smiled the entire time. He swung a metal scythe at her, but she continued to evade it with almost supernatural quickness. There were brand new slash marks on her helmet and shield. Steve wondered how long she could hold up.

The distraction gave Brock an opportunity to catch him off guard and head butt him. Brock got the upper hand and pinned Steve on the ground. He put his hands around Steve's neck and squeezed.

Steve pushed back at him and clawed at his face. He pulled the mask off Brock's head. Brock clutched at it defensively which enabled Steve to throw him back into a wall.

Brock's face was hideous, but his eyes were the worst of all. There was a look in them of pure rage that had never been there before.

Brock said, "Do you see what you did to me Rogers? Are you happy with what you did to me!?"

"You brought this on yourself by being a traitor to your country!"

"America is a cesspool you f #$%&ng Boy Scout freak! It's a land in decline pretending to still be an empire! HYDRA was going to make the world better! We were going to remake the world in our image and you ruined it! HYDRA was your real master all along! You turned on the hands that were feeding you! You're the real traitor!"

Steve kicked him in the chest. Rumlow coughed with pain in his voice.

He said, "The only reason you're stronger than me is because of HYDRA technology to make you a superman. But you're not a superman and I'll prove it. I'll do to you what you did to me and I'll show you even less mercy. God brought you to me so I can prove you bleed like everybody else."

"You dress as a skeleton, you fight for Neo-Nazis, you turn on your so-called friends and you have the nerve to think God is on your side?"

The other man in the room smirked and said, "Hey, we're not Neo-Nazis. We got rid of the racism and German Nationalism 70 years ago. We're technology-based post-Fascists. Get your lingo right."

Natasha said, "Are we going to stop brawling and have an intellectual debate? Because I'm getting kind of tired of fighting."

Brock's partner said, "Well if you'd stay still for a moment and let me behead you, it'd be over pretty quickly."

Natasha hissed, "Not going to happen ever. And I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I'm the Grim Reaper. Can't you tell by the hood and the scythe?"

Natasha deadpanned, "For a guy with Grim Reaper as a code name, you seem awfully cheerful."

The Reaper said, "I love my work."

Steve said, "Do my enemies all have a gimmick now?"

Brock said, "Because 'Mr. Captain America my name is nationalist propaganda' has any room to talk?"

Steve said, "I was the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan decades before you were even born, traitor."

Brock said, "And when you were my age, you had to walk 20 miles to school and didn't even have internet."

Steve swung his fist at him, but a loud cracking sound erupted and the room filled with smoke. Steve flailed, hoping to reach Natasha and for bullets to not to start flying again. When the smoke cleared, his enemies were gone.

To be continued.


	6. Chapter 6

**Old Friends Chapter 6**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Thank you so much to those who read and review-)**

Grim Reaper pulled Brock by his arm out of the smoke and to a secret door in the safe house. His grip was painful against Brock's damaged skin. The door closed behind them, revealing a garage.

Brock protested, "Let's go back. I can finish Rogers. I'm not done yet!"

He wheezed, feeling thick liquid in his mouth. He hoped it wasn't blood. When Steve had thrown him against the wall he may have cracked something.

Eric said, "No, we're getting out of here. I'm calling a tactical withdrawal. You were getting your ass kicked by Rogers and about to get beaten, and even I couldn't take on Rogers and Romanoff by myself. Plus I got nicked by a spare bullet. You'll have to drive as my real fake arm is back in there."

Tactical withdrawal was military speak for retreat. He hated having to do this.

Reaper tossed Brock some keys. A black SUV was parked on a lift in front of them. It was a Mercedes-Benz with tinted windows. Brock grudgingly got into the driver's seat. The lift rose them to the surface and they drove off.

Brock hated giving up, but he coughed some more and realized it was blood. It tasted like copper and failure and wasted opportunity.

He asked, "Where do I drive us? Where is it safe?"

"There's no such thing as safe in our line of work, not permanently. Just drive as far away as possible. I'm going to have to call Strucker again."

"And tell him our target walked right up to our front door and beat us? How incompetent does that make us look?"

Eric said, "Do you think this is easy for me? I used to have a 98% kill count. The past few days it's dropped to 96%."

"Sorry to ruin your batting average."

"I should have done better against the redhead. She's female and a foot shorter than me."

Brock reassured him, "Natasha is the best female fighter in hand-to-hand combat I've ever met. I've seen her take on 12 guys at once and win. The rumor is the KGB did experiments to alter her reflexes. Be proud you held your own against her."

Eric clutched his side with his good hand. Brock saw a blood stain on his shirt. It looked like he was more than "nicked."

"Thanks," Eric said. "Be thankful you went up against a superhuman and survived."

Maybe that was the problem. Brock was a mere human trying to take down Avengers. Even if he hadn't have been caught off guard, the odds weren't in his favor. It took a superhuman to fight a superhuman.

He said, "I need more soldiers under my command. That and a hospital I don't need to fight my way out of."

Reaper said, "I have to call our fearless leader for reinforcements. I have to warn him not to answer any calls from the computer left behind anyhow."

"Was there anything else incriminating back there?"

"Some minor weapons and food. Nothing to reveal any other splinter cell locations. They have my zombie Blu-Ray collection. And my meds. Bad things happen around me when I go off meds."

"Bad things happen around you when you're on them."

Eric grimaced and dialed his phone. He spoke in German. Brock alternated between watching the road, checking if they were being followed, and watching his friend's expressions. He didn't understand most of the words, but Eric sounded defensive, then apologetic, then frantic and finally resigned.

Eric hung up and said, "We're not getting reinforcements. His sending us to a local cell that's been experimenting on human subjects. They have a medical doctor or two on staff. He wants us to undergo some of the procedures so we'll be more evenly matched."

Brock frowned. All of the experiments he was aware of HYDRA performing had such low survival rates the subjects were usually unwilling prisoners of war. It was the only reason someone like Bucky Barnes had been kept around.

He realized he didn't like Strucker. Pierce had inspired such loyalty he would follow him blindly, risk life-and-limb for him, and be willing to die for the cause. He wasn't so sure he'd do the same for the Baron and his "HYDRA is dead, just do what I order you to" mentality.

Brock asked, "What if I don't want to be a lab rat?"

Eric flashed him a warning look. "It wasn't a suggestion."

Brock thought back to his one conversation with the Baron. He had said he liked to have a guaranteed good outcome for himself no matter what.

Brock said, "So if the procedures work, he's created super soldiers of his own. And if we die, he's punished us for our failure to capture or kill Rogers. Either way Strucker wins."

Eric sighed. His Cheshire Cat grin was completely gone.

The Reaper said, "Or we could go to a regular hospital, be arrested and get the death penalty. Or not go and both bleed out in the car. Hail F #$%ng HYDRA. I could call my brother, but I think I've exhausted asking him for money and I don't think he'd help you at all."

"Wasn't your brother a contestant on The Bachelor?"

"Please don't mention 'The Bachelor.' On second thought, forget about my brother."

Brock said, "What's the name of the splinter cell he wants us to go to?"

"Project Serpent Squad. I'll give you the address."

"Why did it have to be named after snakes?"

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Steve balanced a bag of ice cream in one hand and his phone in the other. He told Sam about the events of the day.

Sam said, "Did Nat break up with Clint or was it vice-versa?"

"She didn't say. Why does that make a difference?"

"If she broke up with him, she probably wants space and doesn't want to jump into something new. If he broke up with her, she's probably feeling lonely and insecure. It'll make it easier for you to make a move."

Steve didn't want to do anything slimy or manipulative. He assumed Natasha would be savvy enough to see through it anyhow.

He said. "This is the Black Widow we're talking about. I can't see her being lonely or insecure about anything. And I don't want to take advantage of any woman. That just isn't me."

"All is fair in love and war, man. What are you bringing with you?"

Steve instinctively lifted the bag he carried. "Ice cream. Should I bring flowers?"

"Nah, it's too early for flowers. Ice cream sounds more like two platonic girlfriends hanging out together. Is she 'friend zoning' you?"

Steve had a hard time keeping up with slang and modern dating rituals.

"How can I tell if she's 'friend zoning' me?"

"When you open the door to her place tonight, and she answers it in baggy sweatpants, her hair in a ponytail and no makeup on, she's friend zoned you. If you show up and she's dressed real fine and she looks hot, you've got a shot."

Steve imagined even in sweatpants and no makeup, Nat would still look beautiful.

He said, "Sam, if you're such an expert on women, how come you don't have a girlfriend?"

"Because…I…er, I guess because I spend so much time trying to help other people solve their problems, I forget to fix my own."

"So how about you take your own advice and find yourself a nice girl?"

"I don't meet a lot of nice girls that aren't co-workers or PTSD counseling patients who are off-limits."

"Try to expand your social circle."

Steve realized how ironic his advice was.

Sam said, "I'll try, but who's got the time? I'm meeting with someone in Air Force Intelligence tomorrow to help with my search for Bucky."

"How can the Air Force help?"

"Why does everybody in the other branches gotta dump on the Air Force?"

Steve thought about making a "Chair Force" joke, but didn't want to be mean spirited.

He said, "Any help is good, but I'm concerned about jurisdiction."

"I'll see what they can do. It's worth something."

Steve reached the door to Natasha's building. "Thanks again. I'm at Nat's now."

"Give me a play-by-play later. Good luck and good night."

Natasha lived in a beautiful apartment complex. It was only six stories tall as there was a law in Washington, DC that structures couldn't be taller than 130 feet, so the tallest buildings in the area were confined to places like Alexandria, VA and the surrounding cities.

Her lobby was decorated with swirled marble and painted ceilings. A grand chandelier reflected light below. The lobby was empty except for the security guard. The security guard gave Steve a double-take when he signed his name on the guest register. Steve was used to being semi-famous. He wasn't entirely comfortable with it but had learned to cope.

Natasha buzzed him up. She opened the door wearing tight jeans and a loose sweatshirt. Her long hair was styled straight and covered one of her shoulders. She was barefoot and her toenails were painted bright red.

He noted she wore makeup, just a little eyeliner and blush. Steve normally didn't pay attention to women's makeup, but he was analyzing every detail and looking for any sign he had a chance with her.

Her appearance seemed to suggest she was sending him mixed signals. Mixed signals he could work with.

Steve wished he had brought flowers, roses in the color red to let her know exactly how he felt about her, but it was too late now.

She hugged him and invited him in.

**To be Continued**

**Author's Note: Sorry if this was a shorter chapter**


	7. Chapter 7

**Old Friends Chapter 7**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Please read and review, it's very motivating.**

Natasha scooped out the ice cream Steve had brought into two bowls. It was mint with chocolate chips. She needed chocolate after the day she had.

He said, "You have a nice apartment, although…"

"Although what?' she asked as she licked a stray splash of the dessert off of her finger.

Steve stared at her finger after she pulled it from her lips. He seemed a little tense.

"It's beautiful, but it doesn't look like anyone actually lives here, likes it's a fantasy out of Architectural Digest Magazine."

She looked around her place. It was decorated with shades of grey. The kitchen was filled with state of the art stainless steel appliances that were literally stainless. It opened to the living and dining area. Natasha preferred living in an open floor plan loft-setting because it made it harder for any potential attackers to hide behind a door.

There were a few decorations from foreign places she'd visited, but she didn't have any photographs displayed, except for one of her and Clint. She had been debating taking it down. If she took it down, things would feel final.

Natasha said, "The bedroom is more lived-in."

Steve gulped, although he hadn't swallowed any food yet.

She said, "Honestly I spend so much time on missions, I think I've literally only spent the night here 120 days total for the past year. It's more like a hotel room for me. A hotel I spend $3,000 a month for."

Steve took a spoonful of ice cream. "So it doesn't really feel like your home."

She realized how rootless she felt. Her apartment was a bit sterile.

She asked, "Does your apartment feel like home?"

Steve sighed. "No. No it doesn't. I miss Brooklyn. Except when I've gone back to my old neighborhood, it's a totally different world than I remember."

She said, "You know what they say: You can never go home again."

"You can create a new one with friends, family, loved ones. Home is more about the people than the place."

He stared very intently at her, like he was looking through her to her core. From anyone else it would have made her uncomfortable, but there was something so optimistic about Steve that made her like being around him.

She asked, "So what do you want to watch? Aside from a romantic comedy?"

"What do you want to see?"

"How about The Bachelor?"

"What's it about?"

"It's this reality show where they find these ridiculously good-looking, successful men in their 30's who claim they can't find the right woman and have to go on TV to find love. The contestants are women, almost always white and never bigger than a size 6, who pretend they're madly in love with and want to marry a guy they spent no more than 36 total hours with. They stare into the camera and say things like "I'm not here to make friends." The guy eliminates them in these rose ceremonies, and the couples almost always break up before they can actually get married."

The look of skepticism on Steve's face was priceless.

Steve said, "In 1945, no one would have dreamed of going on TV to pretend to find a wife. Is this the show you really want to be watching after a break-up?"

"After having people shoot at me all day long, sometimes I just want to unwind with mindless escapism. You're right, it's not the best choice. How about an action movie?"

He nodded and she selected a Kung-Fu movie. She settled in on her couch next to Steve. Most of her décor may have been cold, but at least the couch was comfortable.

He took his jacket off and draped it over the side. He wore a sleeveless shirt. It showed off his broad shoulders and muscular arms. For a moment she wondered if he was trying to be seductive, but pushed it out of her mind. Steve was so shy with women he wouldn't know where to begin.

The movie was subtitled, so she only paid half-attention. She caught Steve giving her side-glances.

About twenty minutes in to the movie he said, "If you don't mind me asking, who broke up with who?"

"It was a mutual decision."

She tried to tell herself she wasn't lying technically. She didn't want to lie to Captain America.

He said, "Mutual? Is that why you still have a picture of the two of you up?"

"We just broke up today, I haven't had time to get rid of it. Why do you care?"

"I just want to know if you're looking to move on. Keeping the picture shows you haven't."

"Why would you care if I'm looking to move on?"

"Because I…because I'm your friend."

She sensed Steve's recent changes in behavior weren't just her imagination. Natasha looked back on how he reacted to her breakup, little comments he made and looks he gave her. She read between the lines.

Natasha swallowed her last spoonful of ice cream and thought of how to react, what she should say. She had tried to set him up with other women because she thought he was a great guy and was just too shy to approach anyone on his own. While she was with Clint she wasn't seriously considering dating anyone else.

She asked, "Why did you really come over tonight?"

He squeezed the spoon in his hand and set it in his bowl. She saw he'd twisted it. He was strong enough to have warped the metal in his hands, not that spoons hadn't been bent near ice cream before.

Steve said, "No matter what happens, no matter what I tell you, I value our friendship and don't want that to be ruined. I could try to come up with some suave line that would be something from a movie, but that just isn't me and I know you'd see through it. So I'll just be direct and stop trying to play all these weird modern dating rituals. I like you a lot. I'm extremely attracted to you. I feel like there's a connection between us and I'd want you to at least consider me as something more than just a friend."

"So the entire time I was trying to fix you up with other girls, the real reason you didn't go for them was because you were hoping I'd be fixing you up with me instead."

"I wouldn't say the entire time."

"Your timing is bad. I haven't even been single for a full day."

He said. "In our line of work, where we can die in the line of fire at any moment, should we be waiting over arbitrary dating rules? I never even danced with the first woman I fell for because I waited too long to and ended up getting frozen in ice for 75 years and she's now dying in an Alzheimer's Ward and can barely remember me. I don't want to miss out again by waiting too long to say how I feel. Do you feel anything for me?"

Natasha looked inside of herself. Being around Steve made her feel safe. He made her feel like a better person.

She said, "I like you, and you aren't exactly hard on the eyes, but I don't want to rush into anything."

"I'm not asking you to rush, I'm just saying give things a chance. Go on an actual date with me, kiss me for real. Just give it a chance."

She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in.

She said, "Can we do this, and not get distracted? Can we keep this from interfering in our fight against HYDRA?"

"I can if you can."

"Slowly" she said.

They kissed, and she tasted sugar. He hugged her and she couldn't deny there was chemistry. Would it be so wrong for her to find solace with him? Would it be so bad to try to find happiness with a man who made her feel safer than anyone else in the world?

His hands slid lower, but she stopped him and said, "I said slowly."

"Slow is good. I'll take a yellow light over a red."

He kissed her again.

She whispered, "Slow is very good."

To be continued.


	8. Chapter 8

**Old Friends Chapter 8**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Thank you to the people who read and review.**

Sam Wilson was exasperated. He tried to keep his voice down over the phone as he walked through the Pentagon parking lot to the Department of the Air Force Headquarters.

He said to Steve, "Why won't you give me details? I'm your wingman. I'm your wingman literally."

Steve said, "I think it would be disrespectful to Natasha to tell you exactly what happened last night."

"Can you give me a few hints? Are you still a 95 year old virgin?"

Steve got very quiet on the other end of the line. "Is this some kind of an 'Is it bigger or smaller than a breadbox' guessing game?"

"On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being platonic friend-zoned and 10 being full-blown sex, what number did you hit last night?"

He saw a little old lady in the parking lot staring at him. Sam turned in the opposite direction.

Steve sighed, "Your obsession with my private life is starting to get disturbing."

"I don't have a love life of my own, I gotta live vicariously through yours. And if Captain America can't get any, what hope is there for a guy like me?"

"It isn't about 'getting any.' Can't I be a romantic? It's not romantic or gentlemanly to talk about details."

Sam normally loved Steve's ironclad sense of right and wrong, but hated his curiosity being thwarted.

"How do you expect me to keep helping you if I don't know what's going on? Was it a one-night stand? Is she your girlfriend? Are you friends with benefits?"

"What's friends with benefits?"

"It's when two friends agree to sleep together on a regular or semi-regular basis with no commitment, dating, or emotional involvement."

The line was silent until Steve said, "Are the people who do that psychopaths? Because I just don't see the appeal."

"Wow, you really are a romantic."

"Is that so shocking?"

"From what I know about you, no. I've gotta go to that meeting about finding Bucky. I'd give you details, but that may not be gentlemanly."

"Get a love life of your own Sam."

Sam hung up and walked through the security checkpoints. He had to enter unarmed. Security at the Pentagon had always been strict, but it had gotten worse over the last few weeks. He questioned if being unarmed at any time while tracking down someone as dangerous as The Winter Soldier was safe.

He was escorted to the office of his contact, Captain Carol Danvers. She greeted him from behind her desk. She was a tall blonde with piercing blue eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a professional bun and she was dressed in an Air Force uniform with a skirt and short sleeves.

Her handshake was firm and direct. Sam noted her arms and legs were toned, but she had curves around her waist and hips. It was the figure of a woman who exercised regularly but ate or drank with an appetite. He started thinking of Steve's advice on getting a personal life.

Sam said, "Thanks for seeing me. I was hoping you could help out a fellow fly boy."

"I'll do what I can. I've only been in charge of Intelligence for the past few weeks since my boss turned out to be a sleeper HYDRA agent."

He noticed she had a slight Bostonian accent. A diploma from the U.S. Air Force Academy was displayed on her wall. The office was impeccable, without any sign of mess or even a paper out of place.

He said, "Yeah. It's scary how many there were, but at least the Air Force turned out to be the military branch with the least amount of spies. That's gotta make you feel good, right?"

She gave a wry half-grin, "To a point, but there's the theory that the Air Force is such a joke our enemies thought we were the least worth infiltrating."

Sam grinned. "Never underestimate the power of being underestimated. At least we ain't the Coast Guard. So why'd you join?"

She smiled completely. "As long as I can remember, I always wanted to fly. There's nothing else like it on Earth. Being in the sky is like perfect happiness."

He leaned back in his seat and waxed poetically. "Me too. When other kids my age were obsessed with dinosaurs or wanted a dog or cat, I was into birds. The way they can soar over everything without a care in the world and become part of the wind. The way they socialize so perfectly they can fly in formation for the winter. We try to think of people as at the top of the food chain, but to me a bird is at the top of evolution, you know. Nothing is more perfect."

She brushed her bangs away. "I'm more of a cat person myself. With flying, for me it's more about being inside of a rocket or jet plane, using the latest technology, going harder, higher, faster, more. That kind of thing."

"You should have tried pararescue like me. We had experimental flight suits that put us into the air directly. It was almost better than…"

He was going to say "better than sex" but Carol seemed too professional.

He finished, "It was better than parachuting."

"It all depends on where you're parachuting to. How can I help you?"

Sam handed her the file on Bucky Barnes. She read through it with raised eyebrows.

She said, "The Winter Soldier. I read about him. He's the one who assassinated President Kennedy."

"And Tony Stark's parents and a few hundred other people."

"And you want my help to kill him?"

He wondered if Carol had killed anyone before. Sam had been forced to during the wars, and he hated it. He didn't want to kill anyone if he didn't have to.

He said, "Captain America and I are trying to save him. Steve Rogers thinks he was brainwashed."

She put the file down. "I can share intelligence with you to help, but have you thought things through on what will happen if you do catch him? He'll have to stand trial. The families of his victims will want justice. Brainwashing is very shady of a defense, especially to someone whose loved one was murdered. I'm Irish Catholic and from Massachusetts, half of my family would want to take a shot at him for killing Kennedy alone."

Sam asked, "Would you take a shot at him?"

She bit her lip for a moment. "No, unless it was self-defense. I follow the law. I just want to give you warning on what could go wrong. I do have information exchanges with the CIA, NSA and other armed forces. There is still facial recognition technology through satellites, but after Natasha Romanoff posted that people were being spied on, a congressman sponsored a bill to outlaw it. It's working its way through Congress now."

"So we gotta act fast then."

"Assuming Winter Soldier is still alive."

Sam wondered if he was getting in over his head. "When I faced Bucky, he seemed like the Terminator. I can't see him going down so easy."

"Pray you don't have to take him down hard then. I can't believe the Winter Soldier's name is Bucky. How non-intimidating is "Bucky?" It's like naming a Hurricane Wilma. It just doesn't fit with the path of destruction he left."

"Names are funny. I think codenames fit people better. Your codename you earn."

"What was your call sign?"

"People call me Falcon. Cause I love the birds. And yours?"

"Ms. Marvel."

"Ms.? So are you married or not?"

"Single."

He tried to take Steve's advice and asked her, "So Ms. Carol, do you wanna have a drink with me sometime? I ain't in your chain of command so there shouldn't be a conflict."

Carol said with too much quickness, "No thank-you. I don't drink."

His heart sunk in his chest. "Sorry I asked. Never mind."

"I didn't mean…I just don't drink…anymore. But if you want to grab coffee, I'm free Thursday after work."

Sam brightened, "Coffee is good."

They shook hands and he left feeling much happier.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The rain fell on Brock as he followed Eric to the address Trucker had given them. It felt cool on his skin, but didn't make the pain in his back go away. He was pretty sure he'd broken or cracked several bones.

Eric wasn't faring much better. He squeezed his shirt into his wound to stifle the bleeding, but it wasn't helping.

The address was on a farm in Virginia. It was isolated. He counted three silos and wondered if they harbored weapons inside of them.

They entered the barn, which was filled with mooing cows and hay. The smells of manure and wet hay almost made him gag. Brock was not a country boy at all.

The Grim Reaper knocked on a wooden panel with his scythe. It opened and revealed a metal intercom. He pressed it and said, "I'm looking for the Serpent Squad. Baron Strucker sent us."

A metallic voice answered, "What is the password?"

"Burn the world to save it."

The rain continued to beat on the roof. Brock sneezed. He was getting impatient.

The voice said, "We have received no word about your arrival."

Eric pressed the intercom button. "This is the Grim Reaper and Pierce's last surviving lieutenant. We're both injured and need help."

Instinct prickled Brock's skin. He looked around the barn. There were a million hiding places for someone to sneak up on them.

He pulled Eric's hand off of the intercom and whispered, "Maybe you shouldn't broadcast how helpless we are until we see how friendly they turn out to be."

Eric frowned and pressed the intercom again. "If you don't let us in, I'm going to tell Strucker directly and you'll have to answer to him."

Brock heard the cocking of a dozen guns. A group of 12 people had surrounded them. They were all clad in black and wore masks. A woman stepped forward with her gun pointed directly at Brock's head.

She said, "I am Madam Hydra and I have heard nothing from Strucker about your arrival. Put your hands on your heads and get on your knees now."

**To be continued**

**Author's note: I will get back to Steve and Natasha, I just wanted to give Sam a little character development. Carol Danvers and Madam Hydra are both major Marvel comic characters.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Old Friends Chapter 9**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language, drug references and adult situations. Thank you so much to the people who read and review. It's very motivating-)**

Brock said, "I think we need to do what the lady says."

He slowly lowered himself to the ground, never taking his eyes off of Madame Hydra. He felt like a wolf or dog baring its throat in submission to a surrounding threatening pack. The movements of the people in the Serpent Squad were more serpentine than canine. One of the men twisted his neck a little too far to the side to be natural. He swore he heard a hiss, muffled by the fabric of the masks they all wore. Brock wondered if "Serpent Squad" was more than just a name.

Madame Hydra addressed Eric, "You, put the scythe down now."

Reaper said, "I can't. It's attached to me."

Brock knew he was lying, and staking both of their lives on it. As a Naval and SHIELD Lieutenant he was used to calculating odds and strategies for every potential scenario. The odds were definitely not in his favor.

She said, "Nothing is attached to you permanently. Not even your head."

Brock said, "Look. I think there's some miscommunication going on here. We're not a threat to you."

He coughed intentionally, knowing she could see blood. One of the squad soldiers cocked his head with a little too much interest. Brock wondered if they weren't entirely human under their camouflage.

She sneered, "I did not become HYDRA's first female cell leader by being naïve. Pretending to be injured to get someone to let you in their home is one of the oldest cons going."

Eric said, "Lady, this isn't corn syrup with red dye coming out of my side. Could you please check your email or voicemail or something?"

Madame Hydra said, "As if I have time to check email."

She did take her phone out and started pressing its surface. Brock noticed her nails were sharpened to claw-like points. They were painted the same shade of green as Midori alcohol.

Thunder and lightning roared outside of the barn. The cows continued to moo, oblivious to the potentially deadly standoff in their midst.

She said, "There was a memo. It was stuck in my spam blocker between the emails for pornography and mail order brides from Russia. Masks off everyone."

Madame Hydra turned away from him and pulled her mask off. Long black hair spilled out. She ran her fingers through it and turned around. Her hair still covered the right side of her face, but from what he could see of her, she was beautiful. She had ivory skin and green eyes, and she stared at him without flinching.

The other squad members removed their disguises. They were definitely human, and all looked at him with expressions of disgust or pity. They were the same looks that had set him off when he escaped from the hospital. The look of revulsion on the nurse's faces had turned him murderous, a mockery of the way so many women had looked at him with desire before he was burned to a crisp.

Madam Hydra said, "I give you my apologies, and believe me, I don't apologize easily. Come inside and let me get you fixed up. I'll show you my plans for the next phase of evolution."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Steve opened the door to his apartment. Natasha greeted him with a kiss. It was a real kiss, not an air kiss. He loved how things were progressing, but still felt a little unsure about how to act with her. He let her in, locking the door behind them. She carried a laptop computer and set it down on his coffee table.

She asked, "Do you feel safe living here? I mean, there was an assassination attempt against Nick Fury in your living room."

"I had bullet proof glass installed. Do you feel safe in your place?"

"I never feel 100% safe anywhere, but it feels safer when you're there."

She smiled at him. It was a smile that could melt an iceberg.

Steve grinned and wanted to do something to make his place more romantic.

He asked, "Do you want music? I could play some music if you want."

"Sure. What's your favorite?"

He felt embarrassed. "Actually, I…uh…like 1940's swing bands. What do you like?"

There was a flicker on her face that showed she had no interest in swing music, and then it was gone.

Natasha said, "I like Progressive and Vocal Trance and EBM mostly."

"I…have no idea what those even are."

"Electronic dance music. I grew up in Europe where they're most popular."

He said, "For someone raised in Europe, you really don't have an accent."

She said, "I wouldn't be a very good spy if I did."

She lowered her voice an octave and imitated a bad Russian accent, "Vould you like for me to say Moose and Squirrel? I am vith the KGB and ve vil destroy you all."

He remembered Peggy Carter and asked, "Could you do an upper class British accent?"

She mimicked Duchess Kate, "Would you like a photograph of me with Prince William and our baby George?"

"You really can be anyone."

She purred in her normal voice and winked at him, "I can be anyone you want me to be."

Steve felt a mixture of arousal and guilt for asking his current lady to sound like his first girlfriend.

He said, "I want you to be you."

She smiled. "Good answer."

She kissed him again. They interlocked hands. He started to lean her back onto the couch but she stopped him.

She said, "Shouldn't we get some work done first?"

He was frustrated by her mixed signals but his overriding sense of duty came first.

Steve said, "Sure."

She opened up her computer and turned it on.

She said, "These are copies of the pictures from the traffic cameras the night Rumlow got away from us. We can search through them. I can forward you more so we can split the work. There are also police crime reports."

Steve sighed. "Is this all we have to go by?"

"I used to have teams of analysts at SHIELD to do this, but we have to do the busywork ourselves now. I sent a request to Nick Fury to see if he has any Intel on the Grim Reaper, but no response yet."

He said, "Sam has Air Force Intelligence running facial recognition software on Bucky. I could see if he could do the same for these other two."

"I'd call him and see. I wonder about Bucky though. He's so infamous now, wouldn't he have been spotted again?"

"It depends on how well he knows how to hide."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Bucky checked his reflection in the mirror. His face was covered in a dark, scraggly beard. His eyes were haunted.

They were no more haunted than the stares of the other men, women and children who shared the homeless shelter with him. People slept on cots with little privacy. The stink of body odor, addiction, and hopelessness permeated the facility.

He instinctively avoided looking at any video cameras, but so many people stared down at the ground it didn't make him look suspicious. He stepped into the soup kitchen line. A television blared above him. The volume was muted, but he saw the program featured Steve Rogers.

The volunteer in front of him asked, "Chicken Noodle or Won Ton soup?"

Bucky didn't even know what Won Ton Soup was.

He said, "When in doubt, chicken."

The volunteer smiled at him. He looked up at her mock- bashfully and then down again.

"Thanks. That Steve Rogers guy. He's really great isn't he?"

She said, "He's a real hero. I wish we had more soldiers like him."

"So if I wanted to meet him, get his autograph or something, what would I do?"

She chuckled. "If I knew, I'd do something to meet him myself. He's notoriously press shy. I heard he won't even give interviews."

Bucky was disappointed. "Oh."

"He seems to come out whenever the country is threatened though. I'm sure the next time there's a crisis he'll show up."

Bucky nodded. He took his soup back to the tiny cot he called his only home. He finished the bowl. It wasn't very satisfying, but literal beggars couldn't be choosers.

When he was sure no one was looking, he lay down and slid his hand under the cot. His fingers felt for the one thing that brought him true safety. He caressed the end of one of the guns he'd confiscated. Weapons made him feel at home in ways that a bed to sleep in or food in his stomach never could. He started fantasizing about creating a crisis, something to grab Steve's attention.

Bucky felt guilty. He hadn't always been so violent. He thought back to what had turned him into a killing machine.

_**Germany, 1941 **_

___James Buchanan Barnes woke up strapped to an operating table. His arms and legs were immobilized. A harsh light glared in his face. He saw a table to his right covered with surgical tools. They looked like something a dentist could use. Bucky hated going to the dentist._

_ The door to the room creaked open and two men entered. One was tall and imposing. He wore an SS Uniform. His nametag read "Schmidt." Bucky had heard rumors of a high ranking Nazi officer named Johann Schmidt, aka "The Red Skull." His face didn't look red at all, but there was something unnatural about it, as if the skin was too smooth, or made of rubber._

_ The other man was short and pudgy, with thinning hair and glasses. His body language was subservient and his posture was hunched__.__ He didn't wear a Nazi uniform, but a regular suit. His nametag read "Zola"_

_Bucky tried to act as if he was still unconscious._

_Schmidt told him, "Arnim, I grow impatient with you. You are not getting me results."_

_ "I am sorry. It is not my fault the subjects keep dying on me. You keep giving me injured specimens."_

_ "Try this one. He seems fit enough. Give me the killer I need."_

_ "Yes, sir, whatever you say."_

_ Schmidt left the room. Arnim Zola stood up straighter. He came close to Bucky, took off his glasses and started polishing them._

_Zola said, "I know you are playing raccoon with me American."_

_ Bucky couldn't help but snicker. Armin wasn't very intimidating._

_Bucky said, "I think you mean 'playing possum'. Possums are the animals that play dead."_

"_Possum, raccoon, they are all vermin to be exterminated. What is your name?"_

"_James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone calls me Bucky."_

"_Do you have any medical conditions, any history of terminal disease in your family?"_

_Bucky remembered the warnings given about being captured by the enemy. He wasn't supposed to give any information but his name, rank, and serial number._

_He said, "Sorry, but I'm not giving you anything important. I don't give out government secrets."_

_Zola stopped polishing his glasses and placed them back on the bridge of his nose._

_He said, "This is not an interrogation Bucky. I am not asking for military intelligence. I merely need to know the state of your health for scientific purposes."_

_Bucky tried to be reasonable. He seemed like a decent enough guy, compared to the other Nazis._

_He said. "Look. I understand. You're just following orders. You're just a soldier like…well obviously you're not a soldier…"_

_Zola took his glasses off and put them on the table. His posture shifted just a bit._

_He said, "Yes, that is what everyone thinks when they look at me. I could never be a soldier. They think they can judge a book by its cover. They think Arnim Zola is a weak man, a coward, the lap dog for the almighty Red Skull, who only keeps me around for my brain. My brain waves are the only things that matter, the only part of me with any value."_

_Zola picked up a scalpel and came towards him. Bucky tried to stay calm._

_He said evenly, "Hey I wasn't trying to insult you. My health was good enough to get into the American army. I'm Irish so three generations of my family died from Cirrhosis of the Liver. I'm clean though."_

_Zola got closer to him, brandishing the blade._

_Bucky said, "If you're going to operate on me, shouldn't you put your glasses back on?"_

_The Nazi doctor smiled. It was the creepiest smile Bucky had ever seen in his life._

_Zola said, "I don't need the glasses. I perfected my vision years ago. I just wear them because people see a man in glasses, they think he must be a soft-hearted intellectual, he couldn't be a threat. People are less likely to hit a man wearing glasses. There is more to me than meets the eye. There is a 99.9% chance you will die on this operating table. You are a dead man. A confession to a dead man does not count. I have plans you see. My ambitions are even greater than the Red Skull's. Someday the world will cower at the might of my mind. My brain will be immortal. I will remake the world in my image. Hail HYDRA!"_

_Bucky realized he was insane and there was no reasoning with somebody like that. _

_He said, "You know I just remembered I have a weak heart. You really don't want to operate on someone like me. I'm useless." _

_Zola unbuttoned his shirt and made an incision over his chest._

_Bucky said, "Aren't you at least going to use a painkiller? If I'm going to die here, can I at least try opium first?"_

"_Bah! I do not waste painkillers on the enemy. But if it hurts too much, feel free to scream all you like."_

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Bucky woke up in his cot in Washington DC, screaming from his nightmare memories. He was so panicked he didn't even notice someone in the room pointing a camera phone at him.

**To be continued**


	10. Chapter 10

**Old Friends Chapter 10**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language, drug references and adult situations. Thank you so much to the people who read and review. **

Natasha rubbed her eyes. They were dried out from staring at her computer trying to find some clue that would lead her to her enemies. She had taken for granted how massive SHIELD was and how much work its other personnel performed to make her job as a spy so much easier. She was used to performing the exciting jobs: going undercover, having a fool-proof extraction plan designed by an expert, and the thrill of the fight.

The only exciting thing about her current self-imposed assignment was having Steve with her. Natasha was enjoying the feelings of tentatively dating again. She had been with Clint for so long she missed the rush of a new infatuation.

Steve asked, "So when this is over, where do we go from here?"

She perked up from scanning traffic photos, "What do you mean?"

"After we find Rumlow and hopefully even Bucky, what do you want to do?"

"Do you mean personally or professionally?"

Steve blushed. "Professionally, but personally too."

She thought about her options. "I am happier with a mission. I don't know, maybe join Fury in Europe. What do you want?"

"I'm also happier with a mission. Is it too early to say I'd be happier working with you?"

He stared at her intensely, no doubt trying to read her expression. She was trying to walk a balancing act between not jumping too quickly into a new relationship, but not being too standoffish with Steve.

Natasha said, "It's flattering, but I want to be careful about us not getting trapped together too fast."

"Well, if I have to be trapped with anyone, I'd want it to be you."

She had to admit his directness was refreshing, but past experience had taught her to be cautious.

She said, "Careful, you might jinx us. We haven't even gone on a real date yet."

"True. I'd like to take you somewhere romantic. In the 1940's it would be dinner and a show."

"Dinner and a movie can still be a romantic date, even now. What was dating like in the 1940's?"

Steve looked thoughtful. "People didn't drag things out the way they do now. They didn't live together or court for 7 years. They didn't have a baby first and then get married later. It was normal to get engaged after only knowing each other for a few months or even less, and people got married in their early 20's. If a woman was single at 25 she was considered an Old Maid. Divorce wasn't socially acceptable."

She wondered if Steve's retro-idealism might taint his view of her.

She asked, "Would you prefer things like that?"

Steve shrugged. "Women got married young because they were blocked from supporting themselves and birth control wasn't well-developed. If people were in an unhappy marriage they were trapped for decades. There was more hypocrisy and dishonesty about premarital sex. It's a tradeoff I suppose. Freedom to date who you want for a longer time vs. the security of an early permanent marriage."

"There's that pesky freedom vs. security again. How much dating with the goal of getting married at 22 did you do?"

"Not much. I was invisible to women before I took the Super-Soldier serum, even with Bucky dragging me on double dates. The girls ignored me and flocked to him. After the serum I was too busy with the War, and too cautious with the woman I did like."

He was so classically handsome and in peak physical shape, it seemed strange to imagine he had ever been inept at attracting women. In a way he was the best of both worlds: a man blessed with beauty but not with the arrogance that so often came from growing up good-looking.

She squeezed his hand. "You're definitely not invisible to me."

He kissed it. "I normally don't like to quit in the middle of anything, but we're getting nowhere with these pictures. To avoid the 'Thousand Yard Stare' do you want to break for an hour and…"

She smiled coquettishly, "And?'

He glanced to the open bedroom door and back at her. She nodded. He stood, and pulled her to her feet.

The Star-Spangled Banner rang loudly from his phone. He sighed and answered it. His expression changed to shock.

Steve said, "It's Sam. They found Bucky at a homeless shelter. I have to go now!"

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Steve parked his motorcycle by a curb. Natasha had ridden with him on the back of it. Normally he would have enjoyed having her hold on to him for a full ride, but he was filled with anxiety about Bucky.

The shelter was surrounded by Air Force military police led by a tall blonde woman, an ambulance and regular police. Sam rushed to greet him and introduced the woman as Captain Carol Danvers.

Steve asked, "What is the Air Force doing here?"

She said, "Simple, we gave you the resources to track him down, we get the glory of apprehending him."

Steve frowned, "My friend's fate isn't about someone else getting glory. I want a situation report."

Carol said, "We've been using facial recognition technology. Barnes had a public meltdown and someone took a picture of it, which triggered our alarms. The center called for him to be Baker Acted for psychiatric evaluation and a hospital sent an ambulance. He had a hidden cache of weapons and took a hostage. He's asking to speak to you and only you."

Steve tried to be stoic. It was hard to stay objective when it was his oldest friend involved.

He asked, "What is he armed with?"

Carol said, "An AK-47 in his left hand and a pistol in his right. We don't know what he has in his bag."

Steve stared at the crowd surrounding them behind barricades. It was filled with homeless people, families, and people who stopped to gawk.

He said, "I want all civilians evacuated."

"They're 100 feet away from the shelter."

"That's not good enough. I want them blocks away. You haven't seen what Bucky is capable of."

She nodded and barked out evacuation orders.

Natasha whispered in Steve's ear, "Do you want me to sneak in behind him? Give us the element of surprise?"

He thought about it. "No. I want him to feel he can trust me. I want to approach this like a soldier, not a spy."

Natasha frowned. He wondered if he'd offended her.

Steve said, "Nothing personal. Can you help clear out civilians?"

She agreed and blended into the crowd.

Sam came up to him, "I think Bucky has PTSD. Do you want me to help with that, talk him down?"

"Let's see how he reacts to me first. Captain Danvers, get me a megaphone."

She brought him one and he turned it on.

Steve said, "Bucky Barnes. It's me, Steve Rogers. Your friend Captain Steve Rogers. You wanted to see me. I'm here. I'm here for you."

He held his breath until the front door opened a few inches. The Air Force police all aimed their guns towards it.

Bucky called out, "I won't come out until the Army is gone. I just want it to be you and me. And my hostage insurance."

Carol muttered, "Dammit, we're Air Force, not Army."

Steve said, "Can you move them out too?"

"No. It's against protocol. It's too dangerous."

"It's too dangerous for them to stay."

Carol got in Steve's face. "We're not leaving. I can't leave you without cover."

Steve asked, "Do I look like I need cover?"

"I'm not getting into a Civil War with you over this."

They stared at each other for a few moments, neither side blinking.

Bucky screamed, "I'm only talking to Steve!"

Steve sighed.

He turned the megaphone on, "I'll compromise with you Bucky. I'm the only one approaching you. The Army-Air Force people are going to stay 100 feet away. Is that fine?"

Bucky said, "You come to me unarmed."

Steve said, "Only if you come out with the hostage. Can you do that?"

"Only at the same time as you."

Steve pulled his guns out of his holster. He handed them to Sam. He still had a knife, and debated if he should keep it concealed or not. Going on faith, he gave the knife away too. He kept the shield, because it technically wasn't a weapon.

Steve said, "I'm coming to you now, completely unarmed. No tricks."

He walked slowly to the front door. Bucky came into the light. He held a woman in front of him with a pistol jammed into her neck. She had brown hair and appeared to be in her 30's-40's and she looked absolutely terrified. She whimpered.

Steve said, "Bucky, please let the hostage go. She didn't do anything to you."

Bucky said, "No. As soon as I do that what's to stop everyone else from opening fire on me?"

The hostage sobbed.

Steve said, "I give you my word. I won't do anything to hurt you. I promise no harm will come to you."

"Your word? Your word? You always were a terrible liar Steve. You may be honorable but the rest of this world sure as hell isn't."

Steve tried to read him. The Bucky he had grown up with was confident and brash. After he had rescued him from Arnim Zola he had changed into something darker and haunted. Decades later when Bucky reappeared as the Winter Soldier he seemed like a machine, inhumanly cold. When he'd tried to remind him of who he really was he seemed like a child. The man in front of him was all of those things and none of those things. The look in Bucky's eyes was lost.

Steve asked, "What do you want from me? You called me here for a reason? What do you want me to do?"

"I want it to stop. I want it all to stop. I want to stop running and hiding and get away from HYDRA."

"HYDRA is gone. I took them down. You're safe."

Bucky screamed, "That's not true! They're never gone. They're everywhere! They get in your head and they pretend to be your friend and they pretend to be your father when all they really want is to control you until there's nothing human left!"

"They aren't here. I promise you. Put the guns down and let the woman go and I promise I'll get you the best lawyer money can buy. I'll be your character witness. I'll be with you to the end of the line."

Bucky hesitated. "I just want this all to end."

"It will. I promise."

Bucky shifted his machine gun forward.

Everything happened so quickly Steve barely registered what happened. He heard a gun fire behind him and a bullet whiz by. Bucky jerked back and fired his machine gun. The hostage screamed, almost in slow motion. Steve's instinct to protect took over and he leapt on top of her and Bucky, covering them with his shield.

Steve screamed, "Don't shoot! Hold your fire! Hold your fire!"

**To Be Continued **


	11. Chapter 11

**Old Friends Chapter 11**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language, drug references and adult situations. Thank you so much to the people who read and review. **

**Author's Note: Sorry it took longer to update. I moved last weekend and it turned out I had no air conditioning, working refrigerator, hot water, cable or internet for 5 days. On the bright side: the electricity worked. **

Steve watched the coroner zip a body bag around the corpse of the Air Force policeman who fired at Bucky. Steve felt as if he had shot the man himself. He may as well have.

The guardsman's name was Steven Adams. His name just had to be "Steven" too.

The woman Bucky took as a hostage huddled under a blanket. She sipped from coffee and gave her statement to an officer. Even from a distance Steve could tell she was trembling.

Bucky was led away in handcuffs to a heavily armored van. He had appeared so imposing before Steve realized his true identity. Now he just looked defeated. His metal arm was as wilted as his human one. The wind brushed his long hair out of his face and he stared back at Steve.

Bucky's expression seemed to say, "You were supposed to protect me."

Steve should have kept him safe, and he failed. He should have protected him 75 years ago and he should have been able to protect him now.

Bucky was shoved into the van. The next time Steve would see him would most likely be behind bars. Even if they could prove Bucky was brainwashed or mind-controlled before, he still would have to answer for what he did today.

Natasha whispered, "I don't think you should be rushing to take responsibility for this."

Steve said, "Excuse me?"

She said, "Any time someone dies in a hostage situation, fingers get pointed. People will be looking for someone to blame."

It was the worst part of being a military leader: Someone dying under his watch.

Steve said, "I made the call to keep the Air Force personnel 100 feet away. It was far enough for Adams to see Bucky move his gun and not realize he was setting it down, which panicked him into firing. At least I think that's what happened. Unfortunately we can't ask him now what his final thoughts were. I should have honored Bucky's request to evacuate them."

Natasha said, "Captain Carol Danvers wouldn't let you. You can pin the blame on her."

Steve grew irritated at Natasha's attitude. He knew she was a lot more "morally flexible" than he was, and had dealt with it before, but his emotions were so raw from everything it got under his skin.

He said, "It's not my nature to place blame on other people."

"Your nature is to be a self-destructive martyr without a cause! Do not take the fall for this."

"This all happened because Bucky was trying to get my attention! It is my fault. Sometimes I wonder how you sleep at night."

Natasha looked as stunned as if he had slapped her. He immediately regretted saying it. He wanted to apologize, but that would be doing the exact thing she accused him of doing too much of.

Sam interjected, "Hey guys, no need to get snippy. Call me crazy, but isn't…I don't know…Bucky the one responsible for what happened? And I'm dating Carol. But if you want me to pull a "Bros before Hos" I'll stop seeing her."

They all turned and watched Carol. She looked poised as she spoke to a reporter from a local station. Steve wondered what she was saying to the press. He dreaded having to talk to them himself. The most frustrating part of being a Super Soldier was when he was used as a propaganda tool to be trotted out for publicity for the war effort. It left a bad taste in his mouth about giving public statements.

Natasha said to Sam, "Actually, maybe you should keep dating Carol. Instead of blaming her, try to stay on her good side so she doesn't blame Steve for the shooting. Maybe the four of us will go on a double-date together. If we befriend her, she'll be less likely to turn on Steve and keep her testimony from being adversarial."

Sam said, "Are you trying to pimp me out Natasha? Because that's actually kinda cool."

Sam looked to Steve with the expression of a hopeful puppy.

Steve asked Natasha, "What ever happened to good old-fashioned honesty in the pursuit of justice?"

She said, "It's not dishonesty, it's channeling your personality to influence someone to a desired outcome. I did it all the time as a spy. Sam, just be your normal, charming self."

Sam grinned, "You think I'm charming?"

Steve said, "I don't know Natasha."

She put her hands on either side of his face and asked in her huskiest tone, "Will you trust me on this?"

Steve sighed. It was hard for him to resist her when she used that voice.

"I'll take your advice, but I don't like this."

"I don't like any of this either, but this is the world we live in. Let me coach you on what to say to the press. You'll have to give at least a sound bite, and save the rest for the lawyers."

She kissed him, and for a moment he forgot about the whirlpool he had been sucked into. She laced her hands around his lower back.

Sam said, "Do you guys wanna get a room? There are cameras everywhere."

Steve pulled back from her. He wasn't big on public affection.

He said, "Sam, your mission is Carol. I'll face the press."

They walked towards the gaggle of cameras. It was worse than facing a firing squad.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Madame Hydra bellowed, "Wake up boys! You won't believe what you missed."

Brock tried to sit up, but his side hurt. It was bandaged from having three cracked ribs. Eric rested in the hospital-style bed next to him, his scythe conspicuously missing. They were both hooked up to IV's.

Madame Hydra was dressed in a green turtleneck and slacks. Instead of a scarf, a large brown snake was draped around her shoulders. Its black, beady eyes stared at Brock.

He hated snakes, and the whole place was full of them. There were walls and walls of aquariums and cages filled with the sneaky, scaly reptiles.

She turned the volume on the television up.

A newswoman announced, "This is Tracy Martin, coming to you from the Brubaker Shelter for the Homeless and Destitute, where James Buchanan Barnes, the HYDRA assassin known as the Winter Soldier took a hostage and shot and killed a member of the Air Force Police sent to arrest him before Captain Steve Rogers bravely apprehended him. I'm here with US Air Force Captain Carol Danvers. Captain Danvers, can you please explain why the Air Force police were involved in apprehending a former US Army member in the middle of a civilian criminal act?"

Martin thrust the microphone in front of Danvers' face.

Danvers said, "Well…the Air Force technically has jurisdiction over extraterrestrial issues. HYDRA has a history of using weapons with alien Asgardian Tesseract technology, therefore we had jurisdiction."

Martin looked confused, "So what you're saying is aliens were involved here?'

"Well…we had suspicions the arm attached to Bucky Barnes utilized alien technology. So therefore we…"

Brock was disgusted at how poor Danvers was at lying. Director Pierce would have come up with a better cover-story in less time and delivered it with a much more convincing poker face. He watched her blather on with excuses and sound bites.

Martin said, "And here we have Captain America Steve Rogers himself. Captain, can you tell us what happened here today?"

Rogers stepped into the frame. He wore civilian gear, but clutched at his infamous shield like it was a security blanket. It made Brock happy to see he looked visibly uncomfortable in front of the news camera.

Rogers said, "What happened today was a tragedy. My heart goes out to the family of Steven Adams."

Martin asked, "Is it true that Barnes asked for you specifically?"

Naked guilt flashed across Steve's face. Brock knew he was never good at acting or subterfuge.

Steve said, "Yes. He asked for and surrendered to me."

Martin asked, "Do you feel responsibility for today's hostage crisis?"

"I…would like for the issues today to be sorted out in the court of law. Like any American citizen, Bucky is entitled to have a fair trial, so I won't say anything to bias any potential jurors. I have no more comments."

Martin said, "But the public has a right to know…"

"I said no more comments."

Steve turned away and held his hand up, blocking his face from picture-taking.

Brock turned the volume down. "Shouldn't I be there now? Shouldn't we be there? Rogers and Barnes are in the same place!"

Madame Hydra stroked the snake, keeping her long, pointed fingernails from scratching it, "I admire your enthusiasm, but this was recorded 2 hours ago, while you were both in surgery."

The right side of her face was still covered with hair, so he couldn't read her full expression. He couldn't tell if she was angry with him for being under while everything went down.

He asked, "Where did they take Barnes? I could attack tonight. I could lead the Squad."

Eric said, "Shouldn't we get those experimental enhancements before we go after the Super Soldiers? Can I get my scythe back first? And can I have more of those meds you gave me before I went under anesthesia?"

Madame Hydra said, "Yes to your first two questions and no to the drugs."

Eric muttered, "Dammit."

She said, "Here's my plan. Bucky is going to be held while they sort out if he's competent to stand trial. From what you've told me, I suspect Rogers will be visiting him often. Depending on where he's held, I may have an inside source. In the meantime, I'll have my doctors operate on you to make you Superhuman. You can train the rest of the Serpent Squad with your military knowledge, a quality my previous recruits have admittedly lacked. We'll let enough time pass for Rogers to let his guard down and then we'll attack in coordinated force from where he's least expecting it."

Brock said, "Like snakes in the grass."

She smiled mysteriously with heavy-lidded eyes, "Funny you should say that."

He said, "Except I know Rogers. He never lets his guard down."

The snake bobbed its head and flicked its tongue out at Brock as if in agreement.

Madam Hydra said, "He won't be ready for what I'm going to turn you into."

**To Be Continued**


	12. Chapter 12

**Old Friends Chapter 12**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language, drug references, implied child abuse and adult situations. Thank you so much to the people who read and review. **

The handcuffs felt different on each of Bucky's wrists. His metal arm registered sensations only weakly, so his bound hands felt uneven.

The prison jumpsuit he had been given to wear scratched at his skin. It was bright orange. He expected it to be black and white stripes, but a lot had changed over the decades.

The guards led him to a bank of cubicles with a glass wall separating him from the other side. Steve Rogers rose up behind the wall, as if in a sign of respect. Bucky didn't feel like he deserved the respect, but sat down in front of him.

Steve mirrored him and picked up a phone receiver on his end.

He asked, "How are they treating you in here?"

Bucky deadpanned, "Like a wild animal that can go rabid at any time. But they gave me my first shower in weeks and I'm getting three square meals a day, so I can't complain."

Steve gave a wry half-smile, "How is the lawyer I got you?"

"Bernie Rosenthal? She seems ok. She's working to fight that Petition to have my metal arm removed. She seems feisty, but is a Jewish woman really the best you could do for my legal defense?"

Steve frowned. "Since you were frozen there was this thing called the Feminist Movement. Most law school graduates are female. And Jewish people kind of dominate the field of law."

"Duly noted. I missed a lot being frozen for 75 years, give or take a few."

Steve put his hand on the glass between them and sighed. "I thought I was alone in the world, that no one else would have gone through what I went through. Being made into a Supersoldier, being ripped from one war and thrown into multiple others, finding the world had gone so far forwards and so far backwards in different ways."

Bucky hesitated, but placed his hand opposite Steve's on the glass. They were separated by so little, and yet by so much.

Bucky said, "And here we are, just like old times. Brothers in arms. And yet you're still a war hero and I'm a criminal."

He pulled his hand back, not feeling worthy.

Steve asked, "Why did you do it Bucky? Why couldn't you just have called me? Why did you have to break the law and get someone killed?"

Bucky wanted to cry, but fought it off. "I'm a soldier. I follow orders. I need someone to tell me what to do. I need a mission. If I have to think for my own, I'm just doomed to make the wrong choice."

"Don't say that. You're more than that."

"You don't know what HYDRA did to me, what they did to my brain."

"Just tell the truth about what happened. No one can take that away from you."

Steve still held his palm against the glass. He looked so hopeful. Bucky couldn't remember what hope felt like.

"Yeah, Bernie told me to be honest and cooperative. They're sending me to a shrink next to see if I'm mentally fit to stand trial."

Steve asked, "Do you feel mentally fit?"

Bucky thought about it. "I don't know. I honestly don't know."

He didn't want to think too hard about what he was about to go through. He tried to turn things back on Steve.

Bucky asked, "So how have you been? Are you dating anyone?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah. I am. We haven't declared ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend yet."

Bucky started to feel a positive sense of déjà vu. It was like he and Steve were regular friends again, buddies from Brooklyn.

Steve continued, "It's Natasha Romanoff, the redheaded SHIELD agent you tried to kill several times over."

Reality hit Bucky like a pile of bricks on his head. "Oh. I'm sorry about that. It was nothing personal."

"Actually, you trying to kill both of us is what pushed us together in the first place. We bonded on the run."

"Well…see…that's what friends are for."

They both laughed awkwardly, even though it wasn't funny. He needed the release of nervous tension.

One of the guards said, "Your time is almost up."

Steve nodded and said, "It was good seeing you. I'll visit as often as they'll let me."

"I appreciate it."

The guard led Bucky back to his solitary cell. It was ten feet by 10 feet large and surrounded reinforced concrete. The only furniture was a twin-sized cot and open empty shelf. He had a small sink with a mirror and open toilet. An overhead fluorescent light cast a greenish pall over everything.

He had started to mark off each day he spent there with a notch on the bed-side wall. The only "decorations" were multiple words carved into the sides of the walls: "Crips…Bloods…Aryan Brotherhood…Dead Man Incorporated…Maggia." Bucky didn't know what they meant. He didn't see any HYDRA symbols, so that may have been a good sign.

Several hours later the guards came back. They led him to an interrogation room. The guards handcuffed him to a chair. He braced for torture.

One of the guards whispered, "Relax. It's just your meeting with the shrink."

They left and an overweight man with a red beard, moustache and a monocle entered. He wore a well-tailored grey three piece.

"Hello Bucky, my name is Doctor Johann Fennhoff. I will be conducting your psychological examination."

He had an Austrian accent and his voice was even. Bucky flashed back to Dr. Zola. He was wary of foreign doctors, especially ones that looked physically harmless.

Bucky said, "So you're going to poke around in my head and see if I'm crazy?"

"I don't use words like 'crazy'. They are too judgmental towards the mentally ill. I'm sensing some hostility from you."

Bucky gave a mirthless laugh. "I'm chained up like a common criminal. Why wouldn't I be hostile?"

"If I removed your handcuffs, would it establish trust between us?"

Bucky was suspicious, "You would really do that?"

"You have nothing to gain from attacking me, do you? I'll uncuff you if you promise to be completely honest."

"Sure Doc. Honest and cooperative. That's totally me."

Dr. Fennhoff took out a key and unlocked the cuffs. Bucky wondered if it was a skeleton key or if he got in from the guards in a pre-planned move. It didn't matter, as long as he was free.

"Thanks."

The doctor said, "Here's my card."

Bucky read he was a Board Certified Forensic Psychiatrist and his email address was DoctorFaustus-at . There was something familiar about the name "Doctor Faustus" but he couldn't quite place it. Was it a Grimm's Fairy Tale? Was it a story about a man who sold his soul to a demon? He couldn't remember.

Fennhoff took out a machine and pressed "record." He also took out a notepad and started writing.

He said, "Let's begin at the beginning Mr. Barnes. Tell me about your childhood."

"My childhood? It was normal. I grew up in Brooklyn during the Depression. We were poor, but we got by."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No. I was an only child."

"Was? You say that in the past tense."

Bucky frowned. "My childhood seems so far away, it's almost like it happened to someone else."

Fennhoff scribbled on his paper and muttered, "Interesting. Did you enjoy being an only child?"

"No. It was kind of lonely. We lived in an Irish-Catholic neighborhood, so most people had bigger families. It's probably why Steve Rogers and I got on so well. We were like each other's surrogate brothers."

Fennhoff perked up. "How would you characterize your relationship with Steve Rogers?"

"We were best friends."

"In the past tense. What are you now with Steve Rogers?"

"He's paying for my lawyer after I tried to kill him. If that's not true friendship, I don't know what is."

"How often does he visit you here?"

Bucky felt a protective instinct. "Why are you asking me so many questions about Steve? I thought this was an examination of me and me only."

Fennhoff said, "I'm just getting a full picture. And with all due respect, I ask the questions in the examination, not you."

Bucky crossed his arms. "Fire away Doc."

"Were you ever abused as a child?"

Bucky wanted to crawl inside of himself. He stalled. "Define abuse."

"Physical, emotional, sexual."

"You're really nosy."

"You're getting defensive."

Bucky grimaced. "My father may have hit me a few times, but he was always nice afterwards. That was normal."

Fennhoff scribbled some more. "Was there other violence in your childhood? Did you get into fights? Did you bully other children? Were you bullied yourself?"

Bucky remembered saving Steve from bullies, but instinctively didn't want to mention his name.

"I got into a few fights. It was part of growing up in the neighborhood, like a rite of passage. I always stood up for the little guys."

"Did you ever torture animals, start fires or wet your bed?"

"What the hell kind of questions are these? No on all of those."

Bucky was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

Fennhoff asked, "Why did you join the Army?"

Bucky relaxed. "It was the thing to do. They made it seem like you weren't a man if you didn't enlist."

He didn't mention that Steve had inspired him.

Fennhoff said, "My records show you were a sniper in the 107th. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy that?"

Bucky relaxed a little. "Yeah. Yeah I did. I was good at it."

"Can you remember when HYDRA recruited you?"

Bucky tensed up again. He tried not to let traumatic memories flood him.

Bucky whispered. "I don't remember. I don't remember being recruited. Recruited implies you have a choice."

Fennhoff asked, "What do you remember?"

Bucky flashed back to the Grim Reaper approaching him in the bar and asking the same thing. He didn't want to have a panic attack. He couldn't break down now. He took a few deep breaths to stay calm.

"I remember cold. I remember being strapped down to a table and given injections. I remember being fished out of a river by Russian soldiers. I remember Arnim Zola attaching the metal arm on me. I remember no painkillers. They never used painkillers. I remember ice and being pulled in and out of it and they gave me electroshocks to make me forget and I'd forget and I'd remember and Alexander Pierce pretended to be nice and then he'd be mean and then he'd be nice like my father and they'd make me forget again and please don't make me remember this please don't make please don't make me please don't make me please don't make me…"

Fennhoff grabbed his shoulders and said, "It's going to be OK Bucky. You did well. I'm proud of you. We're done for now."

Bucky inhaled and exhaled.

Fennhoff turned off the recorder. He said, "I'm going to put the handcuffs back on you. Are you fine with that?"

"Like I have a choice?"

Fennhoff refastened his bindings. He said, "I'm curious. What kind of bedding do you have?"

Bucky furrowed his brow. Fennhoff asked the weirdest questions. "Regular twin sheets."

Fennhoff said, "It's funny. I've had so many patients tear the sheets up and use the nooses to commit suicide in their cells. They use the overhead lights to hang themselves. I guess they just couldn't handle the stress of an upcoming trial and suicide seemed so much easier. Sleep well tonight Bucky."

As the guards came to take Bucky back, Bucky could have sworn Fennhoff winked at him.

**To be continued**


	13. Chapter 13

**Old Friends Chapter 13**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language, drug references, implied child abuse and adult situations. Thank you so much to the people who read and review, it's very encouraging. **

Natasha hoped a nice dinner would take Steve's mind off of things. She picked an upscale Italian restaurant in the hope that people would be more likely to leave them alone. Restaurants that catered to Washington's elite had less autograph-seekers.

Steve ordered a main course with extra garlic. She wondered if it was a sign of dating inexperience or if he wasn't in a romantic mood. Or maybe she was reading too much into things.

After the waiter brought them their meals, Steve seemed distracted. He twirled his pasta on his plate, not looking directly at her.

He said, "I got a voicemail from Tony Stark. He's in town and wants me to meet with him tomorrow."

Natasha had a rocky personal experience with Tony. They met because Nick Fury had ordered her to spy on him, so he was vocal about not trusting her. They had been forced to work together in the Battle of New York, but sometimes the "Fire-forged friends" phenomenon didn't carry over after the battle was won.

Steve and Tony had outright clashed and fought before New York. She wondered if Tony wanting to meet with him had something to do with the revelation that Bucky had assassinated Tony's parents, or the fact that Tony's company had hired a fair number of former SHIELD agents such as Maria Hill.

She tried to be supportive. Meeting with him might be good for Steve professionally.

She said, "That's great. Assuming you can get in a word edgewise with him. Did he say why he wanted to meet with you?"

Steve shrugged. "He didn't leave details. I'm more meeting with him to see if he can get Sam another flight suit. I'm not looking forward to it."

He picked at an oversize shrimp on his plate without eating it.

She asked, "Are you feeling OK?"

He glanced up, "I'm OK. I just feel guilty because I'm having dinner with a beautiful woman, while Bucky is stuck behind bars."

"You're doing all you can for him. There's such a thing as too much guilt."

He clenched his brow. "Do you feel guilty about…anything?"

She felt like she was being accused of being cold again. Or at the very least, being judged. Natasha stabbed at her veal parmesan.

She looked down, but peered up through her eyelashes. "Do you think I'm a sociopath?"

He set his fork down quickly. "No. I wouldn't be with you if I did. I think you have a lot less ethics than I do. Do you think of yourself as a sociopath?"

"A sociopath is a selfish person incapable of knowing the difference between right or wrong who doesn't care about other people. That isn't me. But my relative lack of ethics bothers you, doesn't it?"

Steve sighed and tore pieces out of his garlic roll. "It bothers me, but I still…"

She cocked her head, "You still…what?"

"I still love you anyhow."

She smiled. She wasn't sure if Steve was genuinely in love with her, or if it was a puppy-love infatuation from him being so inexperienced. It was still nice to hear it.

Natasha wasn't quite ready to say it back to him. If she said it, she wanted to mean it. She wasn't the type to say "I love you" just because a guy said it first.

She murmured, "True love is knowing someone's flaws and loving them anyhow. Except I don't think you have any flaws. You may just be the perfect man."

"Well, I can't dance. And I'm a terrible liar, especially on TV. And you may be right about me having a martyr complex."

He stared at her hopefully, as if he was still waiting for her to say "I love you" back.

She deflected by trying to stroke his ego, not that Steve had much of one. "Why are you such a good guy? Is it genetics? Environment?"

Steve sipped from his Cappuccino. "Upbringing I guess. My parents instilled strong values in me. That and I'm stubborn. Why are you the way you are?"

She sipped from her wine glass, letting the burgundy liquid trickle down her throat.

Natasha said, "I didn't have much choice in my upbringing. The KGB took me from my parents when I was nine. They recruited me based on test scores, and they predicted I'd grow up to be pretty enough to be good at seduction. I fit their profile for the perfect spy."

"So you're like a child soldier in a way."

"What's the difference between a soldier and a spy? Spies are better liars. They didn't teach me about religion or ethics or conventional right or wrong. Murder was just part of my day job. The only morality was to serve the State. And when Communism fell I just started working for the next regime."

"But you found your way to the side of good eventually. There's obviously something good in you."

She squeezed his hand, "Do you see good in everyone?"

Steve said, "No. I've met the Red Skull, and the rest of HYDRA. My mission isn't finished with them."

Natasha lowered her voice and said, "I'm as dedicated to stopping them as you are, but after a day like today, can you drop the survivor's guilt for one night, come back to my place, and let's both just forget the rest of the world exists? We can go full-throttle tomorrow morning."

"Are you going to fall back on sex appeal whenever you want to talk me into doing something?"

"Only if it works."

"It's working."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Madame Hydra asked, "Do you want to father children in the future Brock?"

Brock perked up on the hospital bed he started to view as a jail cell. He still couldn't read her expression as half of her face was hidden by her hairstyle. He wondered if she kept her locks glued to the side.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you asking me that?"

She said, "We're going to alter you on a genetic level. After Serpent Squad members go through the change, no one has been able to mother or father a child that survives past the first Trimester. If you wish, I'm giving you the option of freezing your genetic material."

Fatherhood wasn't something Brock had thought much about. He'd only met his biological father once and it wasn't very pleasant. His only brush with potential parenthood had been a pregnancy scare from a girlfriend his sophomore year in college. The high-risk lifestyle of being an undercover terrorist didn't give him much room to contemplate a white picket fence in the suburbs with a wife and kids.

Eric asked, "How do I know HYDRA isn't going to do something with our tadpoles?"

Madame Hydra rolled her visible eye. "We aren't scientifically interested in your…as you so eloquently phrase it…tadpoles. Because of your handicap you aren't a good candidate for some of the same procedures as Brock."

Eric leapt from his bed. "I'm not a fu #$%g cripple."

Reaper looked agitated. Brock noticed he was sweating, despite the room being a cool 64 degrees. Madame Hydra had mentioned they kept the rooms cool so if any snakes escaped, it might slow them down naturally. The thought of a snake escaping in the middle of the night gave him no comfort.

Eric pulled a water bottle from a refrigerator and drank from it as if he'd returned from a desert. He was acting strange. Brock wondered if he was going through some sort of withdrawal.

Brock asked, "What are you going to do to me that you can't do to him?"

She smiled. "It's complicated, but we have a recombinant DNA procedure that makes humans as flexible as snakes. It will make your bones soften on impact and reform. The next time Steve Rogers hits you, you won't break."

Brock said, "And you've done this before?"

She nodded, held up her left hand, and twisted it back with her right. Her arm made a horrific crunching sound, stiffened, and reformed as if nothing had happened.

Brock said, "No offense, but that was disgusting."

Eric asked brightly, "Can you do it again?"

She shrugged nonchalantly and repeated it on the other arm.

While she contorted herself, she said, "We're also going to increase your immunity to poisons, and make your bodily fluids toxic. We can give you sharpened canines to make your bite lethal, and I'd start growing out your fingernails so they can be sharpened to talons. You'll be a living weapon."

He stared at the wall of snake cages and thought of becoming like them. There was one serpentine-trait he was interested in.

He said, "Snakes shed their skin and get a fresh layer underneath. For all of the technology you have, could you heal my skin, make me regenerate under the burns. Could you make me look normal again?"

Madame Hydra asked, "Do you think scars are the worst thing that can happen to someone?"

"They're among the ugliest."

She nestled next to him and held up her index finger to his face. He wondered how much poison was flowing under her pointed fingernails, but didn't flinch.

She said, "Normally they treat burn scars with a series of skin grafts, but because your whole body is covered that isn't an option. Our scientists did have a proposal about skin regeneration, but we haven't tested it on anyone yet because there's no guarantee the skin won't grow back with scales."

"How do you know so much about treating burns?"

She pulled back the hair that covered half of her face. Her right cheek was marred with a series of scars. They weren't as prominent as Brock's, but still harsh to look at.

Madame Hydra said, "Are these so ugly to you?"

Brock felt like he opened his mouth and shoved his own foot down his throat.

He tried to be charming. "No. On you they just…build character."

She sighed, "My face was as bad as yours is. I had two grafting procedures myself, but they can only do so much. I've come to see them as a badge of honor."

Eric said, "Yeah, getting mutilated is a badge of honor. Funny how HYDRA attracts so many damaged people."

She said, "Damaged people are the most dangerous of all. We know we will survive."

"So as my losing a hand doesn't make me as popular around here as having scars, what are you going to do to me?"

She said, "Are you familiar with Vibranium?'

Eric said, "Yeah. It's the hardest metal on Earth. Captain America's Shield is made from it."

"We're going to coat your scythe with it. It will make it heavier, so we're going to have to give you a vibranium endoskeleton to support it."

Eric brightened. "Can I get a metal plate in my skull?"

She frowned. "Why do you want a metal plate in your head?"

"So if there's an apocalypse and I come back as a zombie and get shot in the head, I can still keep going. If you're going to make me a cyborg super soldier, I'd think you'd want to protect the brain stem."

Madam Hydra said, "Fine. I'll run the schematics by our scientists. It makes sense to protect your brain, no matter how…damaged it appears to already be."

Eric smiled and finished his water.

Brock said, "On the skin and genetic material options, I can think about it overnight, right?"

"Of course. I'll want the operations to be performed no later than this week. And I will want you both to be cleared by a psychiatrist first. Especially Eric."

Eric made a mock innocent "who me?" face.

Brock didn't like the thought of speaking to a shrink.

He said, "What do you mean cleared? Who's the psychiatrist?"

She said, "We call him Doctor Faustus. He's the same doctor assigned to the Winter Soldier."

**To be continued**


	14. Chapter 14

**Old Friends Chapter 14**

**By: Cadet Deming**

**I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language, drug references, and implied child abuse and adult situations. Please read and review. It's appreciated.**

Steve questioned if he felt any different. He certainly felt relaxed, more relaxed than he could remember in ages. Losing one's virginity was supposed to be a major life milestone or passage into manhood.

Natasha rested her head on his chest. He put his arm around her with instinctive protectiveness. He could smell the remains of her perfume, mixed with her natural scent.

He whispered to her, "Was this…good?'

She purred back. "It was very, very good. I can't believe I was really your first."

He grinned. It sounded like a good reaction. He stretched out between the sheets. They were satin, far more luxurious than he was used to. Some nights he slept on his own floor.

Steve said, "If you don't mind me asking, how many men have you…"

She cocked an eyebrow. "How any men have I been with? Those are dangerous waters to swim through."

He cleared his throat. "I was going to ask, how many men have you slept with that you ended up killing?"

She sat up next to him, pulling the bed sheet to cover herself with. It felt like a barrier between them.

Natasha said, "Do you really want to know?"

"In order to have total trust, we have to have honesty with each other."

She dropped the sheet. "Nine."

He processed that. He couldn't imagine having to kill a woman under those circumstances. It was one of the multiple reasons he couldn't be a spy.

"How many men have you been with that you cared about?"

She squeezed his knee. "Five. Including you."

Admitting she cared about him was another good sign. For all of the things she had said over the previous night, she still hadn't uttered, "I love you."

She nestled against him.

He said, "So the spare toothbrush you loaned me, should I take it back, or should I leave it here?"

"You may as well leave it here. In the future when we have dinner together, could you go easy on the garlic?"

He realized he made a dating faux pas. "Of course."

She said, "The top drawer on the right over there is empty, if you want to leave a change of clothes or anything."

Steve would have to check with Sam, but he assumed a woman giving a drawer to a man was a big deal. Then he realized why the drawer was empty.

He asked, "It was Clint's drawer, wasn't it?"

She said, "Yes. I guess I'm giving you permission to mark your territory."

"I'm trying not to make an arrow joke."

She kissed him and they drifted off to sleep. They shared breakfast, and he drove his motorcycle to the address Tony had given him. He didn't like having to separate from Natasha.

He entered the office and gave his name to the receptionist. There was only one other man waiting in the reception area. He wore a black blazer with a black t-shirt underneath. The t-shirt had a red stripe in the shape of a "W" across the chest.

Steve froze when he saw the man's face. He had only seen part of the Grim Reaper's face, but the man in front of him had the exact same jawline.

He tensed for a fight, but he man looked up at Steve with no sign of malice. He flashed him a welcoming smile.

"Are you Captain America?"

Steve said warily. "Yes. Do I know you?"

The man held out his right hand. It was a fully formed human hand, definitely not a metal scythe.

"I'm Simon Williams. You probably heard of me because I was on a season of The Bachelor."

Steve shook his hand. His grip was warm but strong.

He said, "I haven't seen it, but my girlfriend loves that show."

It felt natural to call Nat his girlfriend. He liked the title.

Simon said, "I'd like to thank you for what you did to stop HYDRA."

Steve tried to be modest. "You're welcome. I was just doing my duty as a soldier."

Simon looked serious. "I was one of the people targeted by the Project Insight Helicarriers. You saved my life."

Steve said, "I have to admit, I haven't read through the whole list of 25 million people. Why would HYDRA target a reality show star? I could see them wanting to kill the cast of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, but a Bachelor contestant?"

"I'm also the President of Williams Innovations. We're the leading developers of ionic energy. Plus I donate a lot of money to pacifist and anti-war causes."

Steve frowned. He wondered how many innocent men, women and children had been targeted for cold-blooded murder because HYDRA had assumed they "might" be a threat to their totalitarian fascism.

Steve said, "I'm glad I could help. Why are you meeting with Tony Stark?"

Simon glanced away as if in shame. "I'd tell you, but it would be considered insider trading."

Tony poked his head out of his office, "Hey Steve. I'll be with you in 5 minutes. Come on in Simon."

Simon frowned, "I thought we were scheduled for a full hour meeting."

Tony shrugged nonchalantly, "I'll be done in 5 minutes tops."

Simon stood up and said to Steve, "It's been wonderful meeting you."

"It's been nice meeting you, too."

Simon walked to Tony's office as if he was going to his own funeral.

Steve looked through the pile of magazines. The top was a Time Magazine with a picture of Tony and the caption: "Has Iron Man Really Retired?" He picked up a GQ with another cover shot of Tony: "Tony Stark: Our Man of the Year!" The magazine on the bottom was an US Weekly. Angeline Jolie and Brad Pitt were on the cover, but a side caption had a smaller picture of Tony: "Has Tony Stark finally settled down with Pepper Potts?"

Steve checked the dates on the magazines. They were all older. Tony must be keeping them around just for ego.

Steve sighed. He would hate to be on the cover of any magazine, let alone horde them months after they came out.

Muffled shouting came from behind the office door. It sounded like arguing. Steve could make out voices, but not words.

Five minutes after the meeting began, Simon Williams stormed out.

Tony said, "I'll have my lawyers draw up the paperwork for you!"

Simon grumbled, "Don't do me any favors."

After he left, Tony said, "Come on in. Thanks for stopping by on short notice. Do you want a drink?"

"I'll have coffee."

"Coffee isn't a real drink. Unless it's Irish Coffee."

"Fine. Make it Irish."

Steve was curious about what happened with Simon, but didn't want to pry into other people's business. Tony had such a big mouth, if he asked he'd probably tell him.

Tony handed him coffee and poured himself a brandy.

He said, "Can I start by saying I was never a fan of SHIELD? I was anti-SHIELD from the beginning. I know my father helped start it, but I always mistrusted them. I'm always right."

Steve had gotten along very well with Tony's father Howard back in the 1940's. He had helped with the project that made Steve into a Super Soldier. Howard had Tony's intellect and bravery, but far less narcissism and a longer attention span.

Steve said, "Well, no one is always right, except for God. We can say hindsight is 20-20 but what's more important is how we handle the fallout."

"Exactly. It's why I've been privatizing world security. I've been putting a team back together. Bruce Banner joined me first. Clint Barton is working for me. I can't get in touch with Thor, what with the whole alien-God thing. The only ones left are you and Natasha."

Steve swallowed. The thought of working with Clint seemed awkward.

He said, "Clint Barton is back in town?"

"He's leading things on the West Coast. I'm trying to have the Avengers work out of Los Angeles, because New York…it's been done to death. I don't feel safe there."

Steve felt relieved. "I'll think about it. Natasha and I are still both busy chasing after HYDRA leads here in Washington. And I'm trying to keep an eye on Bucky. They're supposed to rule soon on if he's fit to stand trial."

Tony cocked his head. "Yeah. About that. I wanted to ask you about Bucky. You know he killed my parents."

Steve said, "I'm sorry about that. I believe he was forced to. I knew him for decades. He's a good man."

Tony finished his drink and sighed loudly. He pressed his hand to his forehead.

He said, "Trust is a big deal. I get that. That's been the hardest thing of all about HYDRA: learning we can't trust the people we thought we could. Have you ever heard of a man named Obadiah Stane?"

Steve shook his head.

Tony said, "He was like a second father to me. Actually, he was like a first father, since my own dad had questionable parenting skills and died…let me rephrase that…was assassinated when I was so young. I thought he was my friend and mentor. He even brought me pizza from New York. Then he turned around and hired terrorists to kidnap and kill me, stole my ideas out from under me, had me declared too mentally unstable to run my own company, and tried to use an Iron Man rip-off suit to kill me directly. I know betrayal and it f #$%^g hurts. But you have to see the world as it really is. Bucky may not be the great friend you want to think he is."

Steve counted up the times Tony said "me" but didn't comment. He put his coffee down on the desk.

Steve said, "You don't know Bucky like I do. I'm staking my integrity he was forced. It wasn't him, it was HYDRA."

Tony threw his empty glass into a wall and shouted, "It was bad enough he killed my father, but why did he have to kill my mother too?! Did he have to kill women and children?"

Steve thought about all of the men, women and even children on HYDRA's list, people like Simon Williams, teenagers, people who shouldn't be a threat.

Steve said, "It's human nature for people to want to blame one person for things. But Bucky isn't the target, HYDRA is."

Tony said, "Sorry, but I just can't share your dated 1940's naivety."

"Do you not want me on your West Coast Avengers squad then?"

Tony shrugged. "I don't see eye to eye with you, but I'd still want to be able to call on you."

Steve said, "How about, you have Stark Industries create a new flight suit for my friend Sam, and you can call on me in an emergency?"

Tony said, "It sounds like a fair deal."

They shook hands.

Tony said, "For what it's worth, I hope I'm wrong about Bucky. I hope it's the exception to me being right all of the time"

"I hope you're wrong too."

**To be continued.**

**Author's Note: Simon Williams is another Marvel comics character.**


End file.
